Salvation
by Enchantable
Summary: Post-movie. The Fischer job may be complete but the Cobb job has just begun.
1. Chapter 1

Light caught the smooth curves of the chess piece, throwing the dusky gold into sharp relief.

_Never let another person touch your totem._

Sitting in a bar, her head cushioned on her arm, Ariadne moved the gold item across her fingers, letting the light catch one curve of the chess piece. The gold was oddly bright among the muted browns and ambers of the bar. Its light shone against the deep mahogany of the bar, reflecting the bright Parisian sun into the shadows of the wood. It glimmered brightly against the crystal of the glass that rested in front of her. A glass filled half way with cheap red wine that made her tongue recoil even though the fact of the matter was she could have bought the most expensive bottle in the bar-if not in all of Paris.

And yet the bright tuesday morning found her in a cheap bar drinking cheap wine and playing 'direct the light' with a bright gold chess pawn.

Raising her head from the cushion of her arm with a miserable sigh, Ariadne rested her hand on the table. Her fingers continued to hold the chess piece, as though it meant something to feel the contours of skin warmed metal. As though she would know the damn difference between a dream and reality. As though she had any sort of place being in the situation she found herself in. Grasping the wine glass with her free hand, she slid the glass towards her, using the wood of the bar to hold it steady. Grasping the stem with her hand, Ariadne raised the glass to her lips.

The liquid sloshed over the rim.

Quickly setting the glass down, Ariadne pressed her hand to the bar, fighting the color that blossomed on her cheeks. Her hand continued to tremble against the wood. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking since they woke on the plane to the chaos that had taken over the cockpit. Hours of questioning, of listening to accusations fly, to presenting endless papers with proof of citizenship and visas and the repetition of "no, sir, I don't know all the men in first class." And, "yes, I do think its strange that they just won't wake up." And, of course, her personal favorites of, "I'm sorry, who is Mr. Cobb?" and "extraction? inception? I have no idea what those thing are. I'm an architecture student!" Countless hours and untold lies later they let her out and got her on a plane back to Paris where she belonged.

All the while she had gripped the chess piece.

She wondered if it was normal. If the desperation to hold onto the one thing that said you were alive and not dreaming was a common side effect of what she had been though. But after telling everyone that she did not know the men she had traveled with, it was not as though she could just stay behind and ask them to jot down their phone numbers in case she had questions about her post-inception care. And as she sat in her seat on the plane to Paris she realized that she had absolutely no idea what any of their last names were. Somehow she doubted that she would find him in the yellow pages-or even that Arthur was his real name.

Feeling eyes on her, Ariadne looked up to see the bartender looking at her inquisitively. When he caught her eye, he set down the rag he held and moved forward. In an instant Ariadne knew he was going to see if she was alright. If she needed anything. He would probably listen to her problems, offer advice, do what old grandfather type bartenders always seemed to try and do for her. At the thought of speaking, her insides clenched and for a single, terrible moment she was certain she would be sick. It took her a moment to get her jellied, trembling limbs to work. To get off the precarious bar stool and stagger out into the bright sun before the bartender could ask her the terrible question of 'are you alright?'. If someone asked her that, Ariadne was fairly certain she would scream.

The sun hurt her eyes as she stumbled out into the streets.

She pushed forward, fighting past the urge to collapse to the pavement. It was a beautiful day out. So beautiful it almost did not seem real and even the mere possibility that this could be a dream was enough to chill her. The crowds did not help matters. People were out in droves, laughing and enjoying the sun. But there were so many of them. No-one grabbed at her but every touch of someone's shoulder, every brush of another's wrist made her entire body recoil and inevitably sent her bouncing into someone else. Her pulse quickened until the blood pounding in her ears was the only thing she could hear over the din of the people.

Until she heard the train.

Ariadne's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Stopping dead in the street, she spun to her left, half sure that the train would be barreling down the street towards her, knocking deserted cars aside as it went. But the train was further away, on its tracks were trains belonged. Her fingers tightened on her chess pawn as she stood perfectly still, her eyes locked on the train. People jostled her but she paid them no attention. The train continued to move noisily along as Ariadne wondered how long trains were supposed to move along for. None of the people seemed to find it strange that a train was going by but Ariadne reasoned that if they were part of the dream they wouldn't. Not unless it was something obvious. She was so intent on the train that she forgot about the people jostling by, forgot about the feel of the sun and the warmth of the breeze. She forgot about everything.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Acting purely on instinct, Ariadne shrieked and turned, sending her fist towards the face of the man whose hand laid on her shoulder. Her wrist was easily caught and the blow deferred.

"Ariadne, calm down, its me."

The firm but calm voice seemed to echo in her panic fogged brain. Though he did not let go of her wrist, the man had already moved her hand down so that it seemed like she had not just tried to punch him. Her eyes moved frantically across the suite clad man, taking in the carefully chosen chocolate three piece suite he wore. The way the light glinted off the polished shoes and the bright cufflinks on his sleeves. His tie was knotted with precision and perfectly in place-something Ariadne had always privately thought was a skill many men could learn. Her eyes finally landed on the sharp, angled features of the man's face, accented by his darkly slicked back hair, just visible underneath the hat he wore. The details fit together to form a complete picture.

"Arthur?" she gasped, looking at him, too stunned to show anything but.

Dominic Cobb's Point Man looked at her, his face largely unreadable but unmistakably calm. He looked as perfectly collected as he always did, not a hair out of place. The last time she had seen him was at the airport, when the ambulances and the police came. He had quietly leaned forward and told her to deny everything before the commotion overtook the plane. He had looked calm even as the police had led him out of the aircraft. He had been perfectly composed even as she had felt dangerously close to tears. Even now he seemed completely put together. Taking advantage of her shocked feelings, Arthur easily pulled her into motion.

"Its not safe here, come on," he said moving them through the crowds, his hand leaving her wrist to wrap around her shoulders.

"Not safe?" Ariadne echoed, her fingers tight around the chess piece, "but this isn't a dream-"

"Its still not safe," Arthur said, his voice still calm as he led them over to the street and hailed a cab, ushering her inside.

She sank into the back of the taxi, clumsily scooting over so that he would have room as well. Arthur closed the door and gave the driver the name of a hotel. Without the necessity of standing, Ariadne felt her entire body tremble violently. Her breath still came in short gasps as her hands shook, even with her death grip on the chess piece. The jolt of the train, the smell of the crowds, even the feeling of people pressing against her was all too much. And now Arthur was there. Her head felt as if it would explode with all that was going on.

"Ariadne," Arthur's voice seemed to slip past the panic, still perfectly calm and unruffled, "put your head between your knees," he said, though to her even the simplest request for movement seemed impossible, "look at me-look at me," he repeated, his voice steady as her eyes frantically moved around before landing on his face, "this is normal. Head between your knees."

Ariadne forced herself to obey, putting her head between her knees and breathing in and out. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the carefully creased lines in Arthur's pants, not a wrinkle in sight though by her calculations he would have had to be on a plane almost as quickly as she for him to get there. Unless they were dreaming. A low sound caught in the back of her throat as she knotted her fingers behind her neck.

"Are we dreaming again?" she asked.

Instead of answering he pulled a leather briefcase onto the seat between them. He made no move to open it but his hand came up, opening to reveal the bright red dice that she had seen him hold before. With a well-practiced flick of his wrist he sent the red plastic across the leather. It rolled before coming to rest on a corner, two white dots facing upwards. Ariadne swallowed thickly and looked over at his face. It was still perfectly composed as he reached out and picked up the dice, curling his fingers around the plastic object before offering the surface to her.

Ariadne placed her chess piece with its rounded bottom on the surface and spun it, keeping her hand just out of reach of its arc. The totem spun for a moment, its arc widening before it landed on its side, just as it was supposed to if she was not dreaming. Ariadne looked at it for a moment before grabbing it with a quick motion, despite her trembling hand. Arthur made no comment on her movements, he simply removed the briefcase from the seat. They rode in silence for a few moments longer before the taxi pulled up at its destination. A uniformed doorman opened the door for.

"Welcome back to Paris, Mr. Stone," he said to Arthur, "we are so pleased to have you back with us. I trust you had a pleasant trip?"

"Very," Arthur said with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Ariadne got out of the cab, staring up at the hotel, "this is my associate Ms. Miller," Arthur continued as the doorman looked at Ariadne.

"Of course, Ms. Miller, it is a pleasure to have you with us," the doorman said to Ariadne, "Mr. Stone has informed us of your airline's incompetence and fresh clothing is waiting for you in your rooms."

"Thank you," Arthur said, shaking the man's hand before ushering Ariadne inside.

The beauty of the lobby was lost on Ariadne as Arthur easily steered her towards the bank of elevators. Some event was going on, people were crowded into the hotel but the only person who touched Ariadne was Arthur. They rode up the elevator in silence before they got to the floor. Thankfully the cool colors were bright and very different from the dark ones of the dream. Arthur opened the door of the hotel with a keycard and only when they were inside did he let his arm leave her shoulders.

The hotel room was cool and dark, the heavy drapes keeping out the sun. Arthur moved through the room with quick, precise steps, going only as far as to turn on the lamp beside the bed. He seemed to know, even before she did, that the cool and the dark were exactly what she wanted the most. Arthur had stayed here before, of that she was certain as she watched him move about the room, discarding his coat and his hat before coming to stand back before her, his lips moving.

"What?" Ariadne asked, belatedly realizing that he had been speaking.

He gave her the same smile he had given the doorman before speaking again.

"What you're feeling is normal," he repeated, "two layer dreams are hard, three are even harder."

"I went to limbo," she said, her voice dull to her own ears, "is that four?"

"Like I said," he told her, "perfectly normal. Your body needs to recover from the stress of what happened. You need to sleep, to eat, to drink-"

"Can I shower?" she asked, cutting him off.

Arthur looked at her. If he had any feelings on her interrupting or asking to take a shower, he did not show them.

"The bathroom's in there," he said pointing to a door. Ariadne nodded her thanks before moving towards it, "you can leave it out here if you don't want it to get wet."

There was no need to ask what the 'it' was. Her hand was still wrapped in its death grip on the gold piece. For a moment she considered his request. But Arthur's own hand was in his pocket and Ariadne would have bet every cent in her bank account that it was gripping the plastic dice. She shook her head a quiet 'no', more out of some obligation for politeness than the need to actually speak before moving into the bathroom.

She turned on the light above the sink and went immediately for the shower, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror. Instead she went to the shower stall. Bending down she place her pawn on the floor and spun the piece, holding her breath until it clattered to the floor. She undressed in intervals, loosing sight of the piece only when cloth covered her eyes. She spun the piece until she was certain each time it would clatter to the ground. Finally she turned on the shower and stepped inside, leaving her cloths in a heap but bringing the chess piece with her. She had been in the sterility of the airport, there was no grime on her. And yet she imagined she could feel dirt and sweat and snow covering her skin and hair. She scrubbed as though she had, until her skin felt raw and clean.

She brought the chess piece out of the shower with her, placing it on the sink as she caught sight of herself for the first time. Her first thought was that she looked exhausted. There were dark smudges under her eyes as if she hadn't slept in weeks. The next thought was that she looked young. Her dark hair was plastered with water and her face looked open and confused, as if the world was a place she did not understand. She did not look like someone who had just pulled off a task others would have deemed impossible, she looked like a lost soul.

She tore her eyes away from the mirror and pulled a bottle of body lotion towards her, smoothing the creme over her skin. Without looking in the mirror she grabbed a bathrobe and threw it on, walking back over and picking up her chess piece. It was still wet from the shower, a small puddle of water still on the marble. Grabbing a dry washcloth, Ariadne wiped down her totem, making sure it was dry before sticking it in her pocket.

Knotting the bathrobe around her waist, Ariadne walked out into the hotel room, careful to be as silent as possible. Her eyes found Arthur. If the Point Man had heard her enter, he didn't show it. He sat there hunched over the low coffee table, his jacket and vest folded neatly over the back of a chair. Slowly Ariadne walked forward, bringing his front into view. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top button, the dark silk tie discarded somewhere in the room. The only sound in the entirety of the hotel room was the sound the dice made as they hit the table, rolling across the top of the table. Both were loaded. She watched him make five passes, her eyes picking up the pattern of the dice.

"Why is it an even number?" Ariadne asked, breaking the silence.

Arthur looked over at her sharply but if she had startled him he didn't say it. The look of concentration on his face did not leave and after a moment his hand moved. He did not pause as he reached out and picked up the red plastic dice once more, sliding one back into his pocket but leaving the other loaded one out.. Ariadne walked forward and seated herself on the other low chair, her hand gripping her own totem as she looked at the bright red plastic. Her own gold chess pawn was oddly heavy in her pocket but she refused to let it go as she looked up at him.

"How do you feel?" he asked, ignoring her question completely.

Ariadne looked down at her toes, feeling strangely overly dramatic at how she had acted. The idea that Arthur thought she might be dramatic settled like a lead weight in the bottom of her stomach. Out of all the team members she had spent the most time with Arthur. He was the Point Man, she was the Architect. After Cobb had made it clear he wanted to know as little about her design as possible, Arthur had established that he wanted to know as much as possible. Any questions she had, any ideas she was unsure of, all went to the patient Point Man who seemed to be able to answer any question no matter how big or small.

As an architecture student she had always toed a fine line between the impossible and the practical. After all, at the end of the day a building was a building. It could be beautiful and amazing but it had to serve a practical purpose. People had to be able to go inside without it toppling on them. As an artist she had felt a kinship with Cobb, she had understood him in some way because she knew what it was like to create. But she could appreciate the importance of a man like Arthur, someone who took the fantastical art a man like Cobb-and a woman like herself-created and saw the practical side of things.

But Arthur was almost chillingly practical. She did not even know his name-though she was sure it was not 'Stone'-and for all his classic his sense of style, she imagined he couldn't be much older than she was. Now though without the rush of the mission she was painfully aware of the fact that for all the time they had spent together she could count the things she knew about the man sitting across from her on one hand. She looked at him and instead of answering she asked her own question.

"Why are you in Paris?" she asked instead.

Arthur looked at her, his hand relaxed on the familiar plastic of his die. At her question he felt oddly young and strangely guilty. As if his being in Paris was somehow an invasion of Ariadne's privacy. Sternly he reminded himself that this was nothing of the sort. She was still pale, her eyes shadowed with sleeplessness. She was in bad shape and he needed to tend to her. It was part of the job and Arthur always made sure his jobs were seen to their completion. He straightened in the chair, sitting up before immediately regretting the action of putting space between them. He was acting as if he needed to put space between them.

"You went much deeper than you should have," he said, "there are consequence to that-and to being in a dream for as long as you were under that kind of sedation. The rest of us have done this before but you're new to the game."

"So you're checking on me," she said, cutting through his explanation.

Arthur pressed his lips slightly together, just enough to avoid a frown on his face. He was making sure the newest team member was in one piece after what had happened and yet when she said it like _that_, it made it sound like he was some lovesick young man and not a trained professional. But when he looked at her again, her face was so innocent and open that against all rationality he felt the urge to comfort her. It had been a very long time since Arthur had his cool practicality overcome by anything but anger and before he knew what was happening he nodded.

"You completed the job," he said.

He already knew that the idea had been planted, that within a few days the papers would proclaim the dissolution of the largest energy company in the world. Their accounts had been wired already with payment, something done beforehand to avoid suspicion. The papers would announce as well that murderer Dominic Cobb was back in the U.S., that he had never physically woken from his flight and that all signs pointed to a suicide attempt. Saito would not receive the same notoriety. His unconscious form was already back in Japan.

But Cobb-Arthur cut himself off. Cobb had known the risks, they all had. There hadn't been any time to mourn for the dreaming man either, not once their focus had become saving their own hides. Arthur had known that even the slightest suspicion that he cared for Cobb would land him in his own cell-something that he could not afford to have happen. Not when the newest member of their team was already on her way back to Paris with the effects of limbo still in her system.

"We all completed the job," Ariadne said finally before looking down at her hands, feeling very young and very stupid at his explanation.

Cobb was still under the dream, Saito too and there was nothing to be done about either of those things. As she sat there Ariadne was painfully aware of the fact that she could barely stand, much less dive headfirst back into a dream. And even then what would she do? Face Mal? Drag Cobb back? She had no idea what kind of dark twists and turns lay inside Cobb's mind, only that if their mark had been trained to defend his mind Cobb had to be able to do it a thousand times better. And even if she could make it through his mind, shared dreams required having the dreamer with you.

And there was a huge difference between stealing secrets and stealing a body from a U.S. government detention facility.

"Did Eames and Yusuf get out?" she asked finally.

Arthur nodded. Ariadne had no doubt that Eames would find a way out. But Yusuf she wasn't quite so sure about. But it seemed he had. As she looked at Arthur she realized that if someone had to find her, she was glad it was him. Inwardly she kicked herself for still being silly enough to care about boys after all that had happened. She should be thinking about Cobb and Saito, not Arthur and the fact that he had come to Paris because of his job. Not because of some strange desire to see her.

"I'll be okay," she said finally, answering his long asked question.

He nodded, turning as there was a knock on the door. Seamlessly he stood and walked over, opening it to reveal a man dressed in a tuxedo pushing a cart filled with silver covered dishes. With quick, efficient movements the man set up the table and uncovered the dishes before departing with after receiving Arthur's forged signature on the bill. Ariadne walked over to the table to investigate the food.

He had ordered her a burger.

Ariadne stared at the food, starving and yet filled with disbelief before realizing there was no reason to be surprised. Of course Arthur would remember that the night before the job, when she had been nervous and excited and terrified out of her wits she had brought dinner to her workshop to make a few last minute modifications. And dinner had been her comfort food of choice: a burger. Lifting the bun, Ariadne was even less surprised to see it already made to her specifications with onions, blue cheese, pickles and ketchup-but no tomato. Dropping the bun she looked up to see Arthur had already seated himself at one of the chair and was apparently engrossed in his salad.

"How-" she began before stopping, "I-" she stopped again, "thank you," she said finally picking up the burger.

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of lettuce as he looked at her. If it was Cobb he knew they would be speaking about the next job, or where they would hide for the usual month or two that they spent apart after every job. Cobb probably wouldn't even be eating. He had spent so long in dreams that the physical effects such as hunger did not really effect him. The same was true for himself, Arthur knew. Ravenous appetite cut down to a mere hunger. Unlike the young woman sitting across from him whose shyness had been overcome with the need to eat.

Arthur busied himself with his own food and the wine he poured for them both, half wishing that he could have read at the table without seeming rude. But it wouldn't do to stare at Ariadne either. Once more Arthur felt frustration gnaw at him. He hated feeling so out of control. Not just with her but with the world in general. Jobs were to be done, loose ends tied up. The glaring, gaping holes in this job made him feel like he had not done his own very well. And Arthur was nothing if not a perfectionist.

"Arthur? Arthur are you okay?"

Arthur looked up at the call of his name, realizing that his fork was paused over his place, a piece of lettuce dangling from the prongs. Ariadne was looking at him curiously. She had devoured the burger and the food had clearly done her good. She was alert enough now to see that he was not doing entirely fantastic himself, something Arthur found incredibly frustrating. Appetite gone, he set his fork down next to his only half eaten salad.

The concern in her eyes made his insides clench. She was not supposed to be concerned about him. He was the one who worried, who was concerned about everything without ever actually worrying about himself. Men like Cobbs were too wrapped in their own misery to care about the problems of others-or at least about the problems of men who were paid to be problem solvers. Not that Arthur thought of himself as someone who needed the concern of others. But Ariadne was looking at him with concern, as though she was worried about him even though he had given her absolutely no reason to be worried.

"You should get some rest," he said instead of answering her question.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

He looked at her sharply, feeling oddly like she was invading his privacy. Men like Cobb and Eames and even Yusuf acted a certain way. They got the job done and they left. Point Men, men like Arthur, they were the ones responsible for making sure that everything was tied up. When he had last checked the blackberry he had bought for this job, the number of times people from energy companies had tried to contact him was in the triple digits. There were calls to return, additional arrangements for Eames and Yusuf to be made and three hotel manages he had to pay off to say that he had stayed in their hotels if they were questioned by the police. These were boring but necessary tasks, the production that went on behind the scenes of the artistry of dreams.

Tasks that the artists themselves did not take interest in.

Arthur glanced back at her, surprised to see uncertainty in her eyes. As if she could sense that she had overstepped some boundary. Belatedly he realized that his frustration was showing on his face. Fighting back the emotion, Arthur forced himself back to calm. Back to center. Much to his surprise, Ariadne's face fell, disappointment shining in her eyes as if his unwillingness to show her what he was feeling was somehow a betrayal. He watched her hand move in the pocket of the robe, tightening on the chess piece and immediately he felt like a huge jackass. She had no idea what was and was not a boundary, not in the unfamiliar territory they found themselves in.

The truth was that neither did he.

Ever since Mal's death, Cobb had withdrawn into himself. If the two men shared a hotel suite after a job, they did not laugh or drink or enjoy each other's company like they once had. The three of them did not go to dinner, Mal inevitably finding some pretty girl to join them and act as Arthur's date for the evening. After jobs now Cobb would shut himself in the room to brood about what happened, to think about the newest way that Mal had appeared in the dreamscape and threatened their mission. He didn't care about loose ends or angry clients or any of the logistics that had made him a successful fugitive. He cared only about thinking about the dead woman who would always haunt him.

But now there was no Mal, no Cobb, just the bright eyed petite architect who looked at him with dark, sleepless smudges under her eyes and hair still wet from the shower. Though Ariadne had proven she could take care of herself, as he looked at her Arthur had the oddest urge to protect her. She was bright and young and innocent. Cobb had said she would be back, that after you built dreams you could hardly build something else. But somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Arthur almost wanted her to choose the normal. To go back to sketching buildings on napkins and building models that would one day be solid structures.

"Arthur, what's going on?" she asked, by the time he realized she was speaking she had already stepped forward, invading his personal space, "you're spacing out on me here," she added with a faint smile.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, fighting the urge to scrub at his face with his hand, "there are things I need to do to finish the job," he said, leaving his answers purposefully vague, "arrangements that need to be made," he continued, trailing off into silence.

Ariadne crinkled her nose. Being vague did not suite Arthur in the least. He was precise, on point. All sharp edges and crisp lines. Everything from the rolled up sleeves to the vague answers made her aware that she was invading his space. It was odd really, how much younger he looked without his usual clothing. True he did not look as exhausted as she did but there was a definite edge to the way he was acting, as if he was trying to keep up his guard around her and not quite pulling off the act.

It wasn't that she thought Arthur put up a front when he was with her. They had spent so much time together that she was very sure he was just as precise and neat and sharp all the way down to his core. But she knew that her usual humor was gone in the face of the weariness that settled deep in her bones. Yet Arthur seemed determined to still act like a perfect gentleman, in spite of the fact he was probably just as tired as she was. But he was determined to act like he always did, as if he was above such things as physical reactions to flying over multiple time zones.

"How old are you?" Ariadne blurted out.

Arthur's eyes widened and Ariadne immediately wished she hadn't just asked him that-even if she was desperate to know something, _anything_ about the man who had come to check up on her. The man who she had spent countless hours with, pouring over designs and details. What she had learned about him had been by observation. She didn't even know his real name or if it was Arthur. He seemed caught off guard by her question, surprise written all over his face and Ariadne wondered when the last time someone had asked him about his age. Or any detail for that matter. To his credit the surprised expression only lasted a moment before he stamped it down, his face returning to the calm expression she had become accustom to seeing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry-" she said, pressing a hand to her hot cheek, "God I sound like my grandmother-" she shook her head, "I shouldn't have said anything-"

"Twenty nine," he cut in, his furrowed brow revealing how odd he found the question, "why do you want to know?"

Ariadne looked at him. Why did she want to know? Maybe because she knew so much about Cobb-in spite of the fact that they had spent much less time together than she and Arthur had. Maybe because she found it very strange that you could spend so much time with someone-that you could kiss them, risk your neck, ask questions about strange things that were not supposed to exist and yet you couldn't even know the basics. Like their last name or how old they were or even where they were from. But when he asked her like that, as if it was strange for her to be curious, Ariadne felt her face warm further.

"I don't know," she said with a shrug, "you came all this way to check on me and we've spent so much time together. I just thought it was weird that you probably know everything about me and I didn't know anything about you."

Arthur frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down at the way she spoke. She sounded like a child and it was on the tip of his tongue to inform her of the fact. But snapping would do no good for either of them, even if she was speaking nonsense. He was very aware of the unspoken accusation in her tone and in spite of his best efforts to tell himself otherwise, he felt his temper bristle at her tone.

"I don't research team members," he said, turning to the windows to avoid her surprised face.

He wasn't sure why the idea she thought he had researched her past without extending her the same courtesy bothered him, but oddly it did. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Arthur rand his fingers over the plastic die, feeling the loaded object in his pocket where it rested next to the other one. He heard Ariadne exhale before he felt her move closer to him. The urge to move away was powerful but he pushed it aside with distaste. One could not help how one felt, only how they acted and he was not going to act like some hurt schoolboy or bashful teenager.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, "I didn't mean to accuse you like that," he saw her arm move as her fingers gripped the chess piece, "its been a very long day."

"Spectacularly so," he said looking over at her, "you should get some rest," he added, not unkindly.

Ariadne shook her head with a faint smile, though the look in Arthur's eyes said he was perfectly aware of the fact that she would not be sleeping. Not willingly anyway. After what she had done in Fischer's head, the idea that she would close her eyes and be unguarded like that made her feel sick. She could feel exhaustion gnawing at her, but she ignored it. Sleeping wasn't going to happen. Not now, not until she physically could not stand anymore. she knew that she would need to be drugged, hooked up to the metal case and somehow she doubted that Arthur was going to try and perform extraction on her. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to have nightmares about people breaking into her head or Mal whispering taunts in her ear.

"I don't think I can sleep," she said finally, as though admitting a great secret.

"You need to sleep," Arthur said, gently but firmly.

Ariadne was silent for a moment before she turned fully to face him, once again looking startlingly young and vulnerable.

"Did you dream?" she asked, "your first time after you went into someone elses dreams?"

"You've already been in another's dream," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but we didn't steal anything," she said.

"We didn't steal anything," he pointed out.

"Thats not what I meant," Ariadne said rolling her eyes at his practicality, "before everyone knew what happened. They knew that I'd be there. This time it was different," she shook her head, "I keep seeing the way that Fischer looked before-" she trailed off.

Before it became clear that Cobb and Saito were not going to wake up. Before the chaos and the ambulances and the police. Before they had been so intent on getting off the plane without being connected to Cobb and Saito, without Fischer recognizing them. But Ariadne remembered with startling clarity the way that Fischer had looked when he had first woken up. His eyes shining with resolve to be his own man. That brief moment when it became clear that their mission had been an astounding success, even though the price had been far higher than they could have anticipated.

"Hey," Arthur gently drew her attention to him, "everything on Fischer's side went according to plan."

"Did you see his face?" she said looking at Arthur, "he seemed so happy, so determined, so-I don't know, relieved."

"And what's wrong with that?" Arthur asked.

"Its not real!" Ariadne said, "his father's last words probably really were 'I'm disappointed that you're my son' and now we're making him dissolve his entire legacy for a man whose unconscious and lost in dream limbo."

Arthur knew exactly the point that they had reached, that moment after the first job when exhaustion and adrenaline made you feel guilty for what you had done. It was an irrational feeling, or at the very least it was one that was trumped by the power controlling a dream world gave you. But everyone he knew had their crisis of conscious. Architects seemed to have them more than any other. Probably something to do with the sensitive artistic personality type.

"Don't think of it that way," he told her. She looked at him, "a job is a job. You created an incredible and layered dream world that even the best architects would have balked at. At the end of the day you did your job with considerable skill."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of consolation?" she asked, "if I was designing buildings out here, this wouldn't be a problem."

"Maybe," Arthur said, "maybe it would. Lets say you designed a building and a within a month, someone was murdered inside and your building became a crime scene. We can take it another step and say that the murderer was a man who commissioned the building from you. Would you blame yourself for the death of the other man?"

"If I'd known that he was going to kill someone in the building? Yeah!" Ariadne said.

"Would you stop building?"

Ariadne looked at him silently, her lip drawn into her mouth. Would she stop building if something like that happened? Part of her said yes, absolutely. Especially if she'd known something bad was going to happen in the building. But the rest of her said that it was impossible. That the question was not 'if' she would stop building but 'could' she stop building? After a moment she shook her head, already knowing she wouldn't see anything like disgust or accusation on Arthur's face. The point man gave her a small smile.

"I guess this happens to everyone too?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Even to men like Eames?" she asked.

"Even to men like Eames," Arthur confirmed.

"And to you?"

Arthur looked at her with a faint smile, hesitant to reply. Her gaze faltered for a moment, the wary look of trust being replaced once more by disappointment at her assumptions of him knowing more about her than he did. Already regretting the words he was about to speak, Arthur slid his hands into his pocket and pulled out the pair of loaded dice, turning the plastic objects so that she could see the emblem stamped onto the face.

"After my first heist," he said, "I was convinced that our mark had lost something invaluable. I cooked up a scenario where his family was going to starve on the streets, he was going to be destitute-the works. I told myself I had ruined this man's life. So I went and found the nearest gambling house. I gambled and drank away a large amount of the considerable sum I'd been paid."

She was quiet as he continued to speak, though the idea that Arthur had been in a sketchy gambling house drinking and throwing dice was unsettling to say the least. Especially if it was sketchy enough for them not to figure out he was probably cheating.

"I got it in my head that I was dreaming and I was stupid," he said, "this was before totems, mind you. When the other gamblers figured out that my dice had been loaded, they decided to teach me a lesson. I was," he paused, seeming to search for the right word, "I was stupid," he said finally.

"You got them to kill you," Ariadne said, horror filling her.

"Well they certainly did their best," Arthur said mildly, "I woke three days later in a private hospital halfway around the world with only this die to remind me what had happened."

"What about the man who you stole from?" Ariadne asked, "was he okay?"

"He was fine," Arthur said, "as was I. Eventually the man who hired us disappeared and it came to light that our mark actually had strong ties to the mafia. The casino where I was shot actually belonged to him," he fixed her with his sharp gaze, "don't think about our marks or the people who hired us as good people-or as people at all. Think of them like chess pieces. Because at the end of the day this is all a game."

"So you made the second die your totem?" she asked, fixating on the simplest part of the equation.

"I carry both. That way I can always tell the difference between the loaded one that someone else made and the loaded one I modified."

It was a practical thing to do, very practical and very Arthur. Still she realized that she was staring at him blatantly, unable to wrap her mind around the idea of him bleeding out in some back ally. They all had their vices but the idea that practical, precise Arthur first got drunk then gambled with loaded dice seemed incomprehensible. The idea of him getting his shirt _stained_ seemed incomprehensible.

"Do you gamble a lot?" she asked.

"No," he said returning the dice to his pocket, "our work, our mind-those things are unpredictable enough as it is."

"They're odd too," she said, a smile tugging at her lips, "is that why you're totem rolls even?"

He glanced at her and Ariadne smiled, delight filling her like it always did when she solved a challenging puzzle. Without a word he walked back over to the table. Ariadne watched him as he poured more wine into both of their glasses before returning, offering hers to her. She accepted it, knowing the contents of the glass were a far cry from the cheap stuff she had bought earlier at the bar. Carefully Arthur seated himself on one of the low chairs before she did the same, drawing her knees up off the ground.

"So why did you pick a pawn?" he asked her, "why not a bishop or a queen?"

Ariadne took a sip of the wine, feeling the warmth of the liquor move through her before she spoke again.

"You don't play chess very often, do you?" she asked. Arthur shook his head, "if you had the choice between taking a bishop or a pawn what would you do?" Arthur opened his mouth but before he could launch into an explanation about games and moves, Ariadne barreled on, "chance are you'd take the bishop. Because a pawn isn't really a threat. Not yet anyway. But if the pawn makes it to the other side of the board, then it becomes any piece i want."

Arthur leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked at her.

"But if I've already captured your bishop, what good does the pawn serve?"

Ariadne leaned forward, her devious smile wider than his.

"I make the pawn a queen and win the game," she said without missing a beat before leaning back in her chair,"I'll have you know that people forgetting about pawns has been winning me chess games for a very long time."

Arthur smiled before leaning back in the chair. It was odd and wonderfully pleasant to be sitting there with her. Her moment of guilt seemed to have passed, or maybe he had just successfully distracted her from it. Either way it was a job well done. Her dark hair was drier now, the chocolate locks beginning to take on a natural curl. He watched as her hand slowly slid out of the pocket of her robe. She leaned forward and spun the chess piece, watching it spin intently until it clattered to its side on the glass.

"How long is it going to take before I'm sure its not a dream?" she asked, her eyes rising to meet his.

"Its only been a few hours," Arthur pointed out.

"So?" she questioned, looking at her wine glass, "I feel like the slow kid," she said finally.

"You're the newest member of the team," he said, "we've all been where you are."

Ariadne nodded finally, though her face showed she did not particularly like the fact that she had to be patient. Arthur could sympathize. Patience was a learned trait and even now it was one he struggled to master. Taking a sip of the wine in his glass, he leaned back until his back touched the leather of the chair. He knew he had work to do. He also knew that the work he was going to do was supplementary work, unnecessary work even. Work to keep him occupied. But for the first time in a very long time he found he did not want the occupation. Reaching behind his head, he pulled apart the blinds and looked up at the setting sun before letting the drape settle back into place.

"It'll be dark soon," he said to her. Ariadne nodded, lifting the wine glass to her lips and drinking, "how are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," she said before looking down at her glass, "tired," she added, "but I can't sleep yet."

"Alright," he said leaning forward and setting down his wine glass.

With careful movements he pulled his briefcase up onto the glass table and opened the latches. Ariadne craned her head to see the contents of the case, her eyes catching the sight of the handful of manilla folders stacked neatly inside and the row of pens that lined the pockets. He pulled one out along with a leather notepad, offering both to her. Setting down her wine glass, she leaned forward taking both of them. The pen was sleek and heavy, certainly not the ballpoint one use type she was used to. Opening the notebook she looked at the graph paper that lined the pages before looking up at Arthur.

"Draw me limbo."

Ariadne looked at him and for a moment Arthur was certain that he had made a mistake. But if she was going to stay in the business she needed to know everything. She needed to understand what she was getting herself into. Arthur looked at her before the young woman nodded quickly, flipping the first sheet of graph paper over the edge of the pad and uncapping the fountain pen he had handed her, setting the nib onto the paper and beginning to draw the confines of Cobb's personal hell.

Ariadne was engrossed in her work, her hand fighting to remember the general layout of the city. She drew the crumbling buildings by the ocean and the soaring skyscrapers. She drew closer sketches of the important places, the house on top of the apartment building. and the endless city that she had seen as she fell from the porch. Her ability to zone in on her work was one that had served her well in the past. She focused only on drawing, not the quiet murmur of Arthur's voice or the occasional whisper of his own fountain pen against the paper. Ariadne lost herself in her work.

She finished her last drawing as Arthur finished his tenth phone call, setting the telephone down as she put the cap on his pen. Arthur set down the mobile phone he held, placing the device on the paper, Arthur looked at the young architect. Ariadne returned his look. Working side by side was something that had become familiar to them both in preparation for their job. He looked up, meeting her gaze with his own before his eyes went to the papers stacked haphazardly on the table. She had put them there to dry, mindful of the ink, but Ariadne was aware of the fact that Arthur's workspace was much neater.

"Thats all of it," she said, setting the pad aside and leaning forward to straighten the pile, "or as much as I remember."

He picked the pages up and leafed through them, taking in the drawings of buildings. Certain designs he remembered, others he did not. It made sense that Cobb and Mal would draw on what they had known. The idea of rescuing Cobb was a preposterous one, one that would involve some very real crime he had a nasty feeling was going to require the help of a man like Eames to pull off. Arthur liked to keep a healthy distance of six months or three jobs between himself and the forger-something that would be a luxury he could not afford. But he knew that he was going to have some kind of information to go on. And having Ariadne draw limbo had served the dual purpose of having the information when it was clearest and taking her mind off the potential hazards of falling asleep.

"Are you thinking about rescuing Cobb?" she asked.

"Yes," he said finally.

"That's going to require a lot of work," she stated, "we'd have to really steal something," she looked at him, "do you know any thieves?"

"Eames," he said.

"Yusuf probably knows some of them too," she said. Arthur shrugged, it was worth a shot, "we'll have to move quickly too," she said.

"You're not going to finish your degree?" Arthur asked raising an eyebrow.

"In case you missed it, I spent every hour of every day of the past two weeks with you," she said, "its not as if I can just waltz back into class after that," he continued to look at her, "and stop looking at me like that," she said folding her arms over her chest, "you're only five years older than me."

"I completed my degree," he said.

"In what?" she questioned.

"Management studies," he answered as her expression mirrored his own previous one.

"What were your minors?"

"Religion and philosophy."

"How did you become a point man?"

"I was another point man's personal assistant," he said, "I took over the job when I proved myself before branching out on my own. Why don't you want to finish your degree?"

"What could is it to know architecture when I can bend the rules of everything? Cobb said that you should never build places that you already know."

"Cobb spends a lot of time saying one thing and doing another," Arthur said, "finish your degree."

"Let me help you rescue Cobb and I'll think about it."

"Are you bargaining with me?" he asked leaning forward.

"That depends," she said, copying the gesture, "is it working?"

Arthur looked at her, surprised at how close they had become. Not just physically, thought that was certainly something to consider. But the ease with which they spoke caught him off guard. It was something he hadn't felt since, well, since the incident with Mal. Arthur looked at her again. The differences were sharp, unmistakable, but he could see the similarities as well. Same dark hair, same spark for dreaming, same smile that Arthur knew could make men do stupid _stupid _things. Ariadne's eyes left his, darting down his face to his lips before looking back at him and instantly Arthur knew he couldn't let this happen.

The mere thought of Mal rushed through Arthur like breath of cold air. He had seen this before, he had watched this story play out and he knew where the long, twisty, wonderful road led. To Ariadne Cobb was the cold, efficient, angst ridden man who carried the weight of secrets and the burdens of leadership. She had not known the man he was when Mal was alive. Before limbo and being accused of murder. Before he had watched his wife die. Arthur had seen Cobb break, he had witnessed a man die the worst kind of death and miraculously keep living.

Wordlessly Arthur got to his feet, needing the physical distance between them before they did something they would both regret.

"Its been a long day, you should get some rest," he said finally.

Ariadne stared at him, feeling oddly like she had been dunked in ice water. They had been so close, she was certain he was going to lean forward any second and kiss her. And not just the quick peck they had exchanged in the make believe lobby. But then he had leaned back, pulling away from her. Quickly she tried to play the scene back, her mind trying to figure out what had happened between them just then and why she suddenly felt as if she had been exposed to him, only to have him reject her. Ariadne quietly pushed herself to her feet, stepping away from the leather chair and moving towards the man who stood by the windows, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Its not a very nice view," she said. He glanced at her, "those curtains, they're not a very nice view," she repeated, "are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"People in our line of work have one thing in common," Arthur said turning to her, "they're bored with reality. Normalcy isn't something for us," he looked between them, "this isn't a good idea."

"What do you think 'this' is?" Ariadne asked him.

Arthur turned his head to look at the architect. Ariadne returned his gaze, refusing to look away or appear embarrassed at his gaze. He had kissed her first, she reasoned. And though it had been for the mission she doubted he would have done it if he was not at the very least curious about what it would be like to kiss her. She held his gaze with her own, refusing to let him look away.

"This is nothing," he said, "and that is all it ever should be."

"So we can't be friends?" she asked, titling her head to the side.

It was on his lips to say no, they could not. That seeing each other outside of a strictly professional capacity was not something that was a good idea. But considering that broad umbrella of professional capacity had landed in them in their current position, he knew that saying something like that was nothing more than a lie. Even if the memory of what happened to Mal and Cobb had been permanently imprinted on his mind.

He had been unfailingly polite to her, throwing up every barrier of professional courtesy he knew of. And yet the young woman had still managed to worm he way past them, almost without him realizing it. As he stood there watching her hold his gaze, Arthur realized that every excuse his mind seemed to come up with sounded increasingly ridiculous. She was tired and beautiful and as he looked at her he realized that he did want to kiss her. Very _very_ badly. She broke their shared gaze finally, her eyes leaving his as though she had come to some realization that he was serious about not doing anything.

"Goodnight Arthur," she said, turning around to go to bed.

Three things happened in rapid succession. A smooth hand grasped the exposed skin of her wrist, a gentle tug turned her back around and before Ariadne could get words past her parted lips, Arthur's mouth found hers.

It wasn't the first time she had kissed a boy, nor was it the first time she had kissed him, but it was certainly the first time she had been kissed quite like this. There was nothing hesitant or polite about the way his lips pressed against hers. Her lips were already parted but Ariadne was surprised at just how easily her mouth opened to accept his. The taste of wine still lingered on his tongue, mingling with the touch on her own. His hand easily touched the small of her back, pulling her soft body against the lean planes of his own. Ariadne titled her head, allowing him better access as the young man kissed her in a way that had her very certain what was happening was not a dream.

The hand that was on her wrist guided it up, placing it on his shoulder. Ariadne pressed her palm to the smooth, soft cotton of his shirt, feeling his muscles underneath the fabric. Her other hand slid out of her pocket, releasing her totem as both came up to wrap around the back of the point man's neck. It didn't matter that she was dressed in a bathrobe, with Arthur kissing her like he was she felt like an old fashioned movie star. He kissed her long and hard, until Ariadne was not terribly sure she would be able to stand without swooning.

"I guess we're not friends then," she said, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen.

"I suppose not," he said, partially stunned at what he had just done.

Arthur was not an impulsive man and yet that was the only way to describe what he had just done. But when he had seen her turn away from him to shuffle off to bed, he knew that even if it was irrational he didn't want her to go away thinking that she had made a fool out of herself. Now though as he stood with his hands on her waist and hers looped around the back of his neck, he wondered if they had not just crossed a boundary they shouldn't have-and if it should bother him more. But when she leaned forward, intent on kissing him again, he managed to pull away.

"We've had a very long, rough day," he said, "this shouldn't go any further. Not tonight."

Ariadne looked up at his face and realized that he was right. She might have wished that it would keep going but she knew that if it happened now, like this, it would be something neither of them would be able to live down. Her lips still tingled from when Arthur had kissed her. She knew that all the looks hadn't been for nothing. As if the kiss he had given her had somehow undone the tension in her, Ariadne felt the urge to sleep pull at her.

"You're right," she said finally, unwinding her arms from behind his neck as he reluctantly moved his hands from her robe-clad waist, "you're such a gentleman," she added with a crinkle of her nose, "not that its a bad thing," she added quickly, "I should go to bed now."

"Bedrooms are there," he said, motioning to two doors in the wall, "and Ariadne?" she turned to look at him, "you're probably not going to dream."

"Thanks Arthur," she said.

With a final smile in his driection, Ariadne stepped into the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.

She was asleep before she hit the pillows.

Morning seemed to come too soon.

Stretching underneath the warm duvet, Ariadne wished she could just curl up and fall back into the dreamless sleep she had been enjoying. A glance at the bedside clock, however, told her it was well past time to get up. Slowly she pushed herself up, swinging her legs out of bed before getting to her feet, making sure her bathrobe was tightly knotted as she

Ariadne padded out of the bedroom to discover the main room of the hotel was deserted. The heavy drapes had been drawn back to reveal the bright Parisian sun and the spectacular view of the city. Arthur's cloths were gone from the room, in fact there was no sign at all that he had been there. A room service table lay set up, the smell of coffee filling the room. As she turned to it, Ariadne's eyes landed on the bright vase of lilies that sat squarely on the table. Eyes widening, Ariadne walked over, stopping in front of the vase.

The bright oranges and pinks of the lilies were sharp bursts of color in the otherwise muted room. Ariadne stared at them silently for a full minute, her mind desperately trying to work out what the last occasion had been for a boy to bring her flowers. Or for anyone to bring her flowers. She was sure it was not a 'just because its wednesday'. Her eyes landed on the creme colored envelope leaning against the vase. Picking it up, Ariadne felt the weight of the stationary, far too heavy to be the hotel's. Carefully she pulled out the notecard nestled inside, her eyes moving across the careful, concise message.

_Ms. Miller,_

_I apologize for my quick departure, there is business I must attend to in Paris. _

_Your clothing is in the wardrobe. _

_I will be back around 7 pm, I hope you will join me for dinner. _

_Mr. Stone._

Setting down the envelope, Ariadne looked over at the wardrobe he had mentioned, wondering what Arthur had gotten her. Her wrist brushed against the weight in her pocket from the chess piece, stopping her before she could move towards it. Pulling the pawn from her pocket, Ariadne set the gold piece with its weighted, rounded bottom onto the table and set it spinning, holding her breath as she watched the angle widen until the piece fell against the linen of the tablecloth.

Tucking the gold piece back into her pocket, Ariadne poured a cup of coffee and made her way to the wardrobe, ready to face the day.


	2. Chapter 2

As the dry hiss of the hotel air conditioning hit his face, Arthur wondered if this was a very good idea.

Impulsive actions had never panned out very well for the young point man and he had long since become a believer in the 'fool me once' euphemism. It had taken only a quick phone call down to the concierge to have the flowers sent up and a minute or two to write out the note asking her to join him for dinner, neither of which seemed a sufficient duration of time for asking Ariadne on a date. Arthur was not a casual dater. Mal used to tease him about how he was always determined to fall hopelessly in love-but they were never in one place long enough for that to happen. A frown marred Arthur's face as he remembered the woman, her head tossed backwards as she laughed, the sound only made more musical by the french lilt to her tone.

It had been a very long time since he had thought of Mal as anything but tragic.

He made his way through the lobby, glancing at the clock on the wall to see it was just past seven. Arthur pressed his lips together in distaste. Even though he was uncertain about going on a date with the woman upstairs, the young man disliked being late. Given how his entire world literally ended when a timer went out, he placed great importance on punctuality. Stepping into the elevator, Arthur pressed the button for the floor. The memory of his last trip in the elevator in the dream made his heart speed up, but Arthur pushed the feeling aside with practice. If he let every place that held bad memories from a dream stop him from going somewhere, he knew there would be very few places to go. Still he made sure to stand away from the bar that ran along the sides of the elevator.

Arriving at the door, Arthur opened the door with his keycard and stepped into the hotel room. It was sunset and the drapes had been pulled open to allow the red sun to stream through the room. Aside from the absence of his note and the room service tray from the morning, everything in the room was the same. Including the vase of lilies resting on the middle of the table.

"Ariadne?" he called, looking around for any sign of the girl.

There was no reply.

Fear settled like a lead knot in the bottom of Arthur's stomach, his mind instantly going to all the people who could have

His eyes moved across the room before they landed on the bedroom door, open slightly as if someone had closed it in a hurry and not bothered to check and see if they had done a proper job of it. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Immediately Arthur shifted his weight, moving quickly and quietly across the room, already with his hands loose and ready for what would happen. Keeping himself against the wall, Arthur moved for the door, listening for any sound of a struggle. The silence did not make him feel any better. Though he had never been inclined towards guns, at the moment Arthur wished sorely that he had brought one with him. Waiting a moment to hear if someone was moving around Arthur kicked open the door.

The bang startled Ariadne who gasped and spun around, loosing her balance as the earphones she had in went flying.

Arthur jumped forward, his arm going around her waist as he easily pulled the young woman against his body to steady her. Ariadne's hands immediately went to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as the adrenaline pounded through her. Arthur's eyes swept the room in a secondary assessment before coming back to the woman now pulled up against his chest. Ariadne stared at him wide-eyed, her ipod lying discarded on the ground from where she had dropped it in her surprise at his entrance.

"Sorry," he said, "I thought-"

"No, its fine-is everything okay?" she asked, her own eyes leaving his to look around the room as though she suspected someone might be waiting.

Ariadne stepped out of his embrace. Arthur let her go, his eyes sweeping the room. Almost anxiously, Ariadne smoothed the invisible wrinkles on the dress she was wearing, feeling oddly self conscious in the garment. She was, as a rule, a jeans-and-t-shirt-kind of girl. Paris had injected color into her wardrobe but the uniform remained the same. She wore her chocolate hair down, letting it dry naturally so it formed waves that framed her face. If asked about her taste in clothing, Ariadne would just have said that she wore whatever came to her hands that day. She had other things to do with her time than pick out painstakingly co-ordinated clothing and slip her feet into heels.

Unfortunately 'casual' was not a word she would have applied to the clothing she found waiting in the wardrobe.

Some girlish part of her had balked at the idea of Arthur having studied her well enough to know her dress size, but she had stomped that feeling down. Arthur knew how she took a burger, he probably also knew what kind of wine she liked. Knowing clothing sizes was just part of the deal. But as she looked at the clothing in the wardrobe she realized that the clothing waiting for her was, well, the kind of clothing she imagined Arthur would wear if _he_ was a girl. Crisp fabrics, rich colors, the contents of the wardrobe looked like they had come out of the type of classic movies her parents liked to watch.

Ariadne had picked out the only dress with pockets in the entire wardrobe, not yet comfortable with having her pawn out of arm's reach. The dark purple dress was sleeveless, ending just above her knees. The scoop neck was not indecent but it was low. She had paired the dress with a pair of round toe pumps she found in the closet, the dark suede working well with the deep hugh of the dress. Whoever had shopped for her had known how to shop for women and in addition to the wardrobe she found things that men usually wouldn't consider. Things like makeup and bobby pins and a bra that would work underneath a strapless dress.

Now though as she stood in front of Arthur she was aware of just how snug the dress was. As a student it was rare that she put effort into such things as making herself up. It wasn't like her grades were decided on the shade of lipstick she wore. But she had put effort into her appearance and now as Arthur's eyes swept over her she wondered if she looked like a kid playing dress up or not. Without a word, Arthur's eyes left hers to move around the room. But as he looked at her handiwork, Ariadne felt the embarrassment pass.

"I see you've been busy," Arthur said, surveying her work.

"Its still fresh in my mind," Ariadne said, joining him, "so I wanted to get as much done as I could."

Countless drawings of limbo were tacked up to the blinds, spreading out like a map in front of them. The dresser Arthur knew had been up against the wall had been moved over to below the drapes. Spread across its surface the half-finished model of limbo rose and fell like a wave in mid-crest. The faint color that had graced Ariadne's cheeks was gone now, her eyes bright as she looked at the model spread out in front of them. Her steps were purposeful as she crossed over to where he stood, coming to the other side of the model.

Arthur glanced up at her, taking advantage of when her gaze was on the model. He could see the subtle alterations she had made to her appearance, the way her eyes seemed not just more alert but darker and bigger. Her lips seemed to shine softly as well, and glint with the faintest hint of color. She had pulled her hair back into a low knot at the base of her skull, the espresso strands pinned in place. But even with the style of her clothing, Ariadne still managed to make the outfit undeniably her own.

"I used this," she said pointing to a building, "as the central location-this is where he lived with Mal-and then worked outwards towards the beach in this direction and the rest of the city that way," she said, her hand showing where everything lay.

"But those are the places he took you?" Arthur asked. Ariadne nodded.

"If we're going into limbo to get him back," Ariadne began, "doesn't that mean we'll be going into _his_ dream?"

"Yes and no," Arthur said, "we'll be effectively going into shared dreamspace. To go deep enough to find him its going to be all of us in the dream and all of us with our own versions of limbo."

Ariadne looked at him, her stomach curling. She remembered with painful clarity what Cobb's limbo had been like, with all the buildings rising up towards the sky. Her own dream worlds had been blank slates, places for her to build on. She had always thought that was just a part of being an architect, that you built the world of the dream. She wondered if her limbo would be like that. Before she could build, would it just be that infinite blank-ness she was accustom to seeing when she closed her eyes? It had never scared her, not once buildings had started coming up, but if that was all there was, then she imagined she would be afraid.

"Arthur?" Ariadne began, drawing the man's attention to her, "do you dream?"

Arthur looked at her, watching as she picked at one of the folds in her dress, seeming oddly bashful at the question, as if she could sense it was an intensely personal thing to ask. He realized though that she must have seen he did not use the machine like Cobb did, relying on Yusuf and his miracle drugs to induce a dream state. Arthur watched as she caught the inside of her bottom lip in her teeth, struck by how quickly her unsureness transformed the woman she had begun to look like into the girl who had stumbled into the parisian warehouse with her brightly colored scarf and stone grey jeans.

"I do," he said finally, "I still dream. Not every night but often enough."

"So you'll have part of the shared dreamspace?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "as will you and whoever else comes into the space with us. Limbo is collective energy, a shared dreamspace so even people like Cobb who do not dream will project and create," he gave a tight smile, "I'll explain over dinner."

Ariadne looked at him and for a minute Arthur was sure she was going to say no. That she wanted to keep working. In the time following Mal's death Cobb had always waved off his invitations for meal sharing until Arthur had learned not to ask. Most of his meals were shared with books or paperwork, silent, predictable companions that he had become accustom to. He was surprised at how his insides tightened at the thought of her saying no. As if her rejection would sting. As if he was not above such things as being told that someone didn't want to eat with him. But then her face broke into a smile and she bent down, picking up her ipod and setting it on the bed.

"Great," she said with a smile, "I'm starving."

Arthur moved back into the hotel room with Ariadne following him. He picked up the discarded briefcase and hat, walking over to the table by the window. Carefully he set down the briefcase and the hat before shrugging out of his coat, folding it neatly over the back of the chair. The suite he wore was a stone grey color that made him look more sever-and far older, two things that were required for what he had set out to accomplish that day. He turned around to face Ariadne, watching as her eyes flew from the chair to him.

"I thought we would eat in the hotel," Arthur said, "the restaurant's quite good here."

"Cool," Ariadne said before realizing just how 'uncool' that sounded, "can I ask you something though?" Arthur nodded, "why do you all dress like this?" she asked, motioning to herself and him, "I'm guessing its not an accident."

"No," Arthur said, moving to his briefcase and setting it on the table, "the Fischer case, in itself, was something of an oddity. For an extraction to work, an idea needs to be unique enough to be worth stealing, but not so unique that the theft could be traced back to the person who stole it in any tangible way."

"You mean ideas that could be trademarked," Ariadne said, catching on, "so young billionaires with brilliant ideas aren't usually your marks. Your marks are people who work in the same business."

"Exactly. A new idea could get people millions, but it can't be so new our clients could be accused of stealing. Our marks tend to be older businessmen or in the exception they are people who have grown up and interact with older businessmen."

"So their subconscious projections will be people who dress like this," she said motioning to the pair of them.

"Yes. But dressing in this way gives us a surprising amount of access without raising the mark's suspicion. Out here we need to get close enough to the mark that we're able to hook them up with a lead. In the dream world, on a typical job only one or two members of the team will make direct contact with the mark. And when we finish the job," he smiled, "its far easier to hide in places like this without arousing suspicion if we look like this."

"That actually makes a lot of sense," Ariadne said as Arthur straightened up, closing his briefcase and setting it back on the ground before turning to her.

Ariadne instantly recognized the dark orange box he held out to her, its brown ribbon carefully tied. The architect looked between the point man and the box, not sure of what to do. She was painfully aware of the fact that he was giving her a gift and of the fact that she had nothing to give him in return. Arthur stood there, the box extended to her until Ariadne reached out and took it from him.

"You didn't have to get me anything," she said, her cheeks heating up.

"I know," Arthur said mildly as she untied the brown ribbon and pulled open the lid, her fingers easily pushing apart the tissue paper to reveal his gift.

The bright pink and orange lilies were as pretty on the silk scarf as they had been in the vase on the table, the bright bursts of color seeming to leap off the white silk background. Ariadne looked at the beautiful scarf before looking back up at the point man who seemed perfectly content to wait for her response. Before she could stop it a bright grin broke out on her face. Pulling the scarf out of its box she looked back up at Arthur before looping the silk around her neck.

"How did you-" she began.

"It is my job to notice the details," he said.

He had been walking from one meeting to another with his head down when he had seen a group of university students. Students who would have been Ariadne's peers. A few of them were wearing the scarves looped around their necks, smiling and laughing with each other. They all looked so happy and carefree that what had struck him was not that Ariadne belonged with them but that they were rather tragic. Tragic and naive. If they were architecture students they would spend their lives striving to build a single building or two, never knowing the rush of seeing entire cities come into creation.

And then he had realized that Ariadne had worn a scarf quite often.

He had given the hotel basic instructions. He had seen her enough to approximate her size and told them that 'Ms. Miller's' style was classic and sophisticated, favoring rich colors and fabrics. Telling them that her luggage had been lost had ensured that things such as undergarments and basic cosmetics would be taken care of by the hotel. He chose to stay at the particular hotel because it had always been very capable of anticipating the needs of its clientele, something he could appreciate. But as he had looked at the students he realized that Ariadne had worn a scarf. He didn't know if it was a trend or a style choice and, he reasoned, it did not really matter. He had taken a quick detour and gotten her one.

"Thank you," Ariadne said, looking up at him with her eyes bright, "its beautiful."

Arthur nodded, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the sincerity of her gratitude as she pulled the scarf out of the box and wrapped it around her neck. Most of the people he worked with had the manners of a person raised in a barn, their gratitude limited to a grunt and a wave. But Ariadne set the box down and crossed the room, coming close enough for him to smell the hotel lotion on her skin before she leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek. Much to his shame, Arthur felt the back of his neck burn with embarrassment, even though the kiss was chaste in the extreme. Ariadne seemed to sense his discomfort because she stepped back almost immediately.

"Come on," she said with a smile, "lets go."

The hotel restaurant was as understandably lavish as the rest of the hotel. Everything from the polished silverware to the soft lights to the gentle music spoke of wealth-and the taste to use it properly. They were seated by a man who smiled at them, obviously thinking they were two younger lovers on their Parisian honeymoon. They held their silence as they looked over the menu, breaking it only to order before falling back into it once more.

"Why Paris?" Arthur asked, taking it on himself to break the silence. Ariadne looked at him curiously, "I saw your passport, you are American, so why choose to study in Paris?"

"I came here because of Professor Miles," she said.

Arthur looked at her, surprised at what she had said. He knew Miles but in the way that someone who worked in his field knew Miles. Miles had been at the forefront of extraction and inception. The rumors about him ranged from almost impossible to absolutely ludicrous, accusing the professor of everything from being the first person to enter another's dream to being the man who smuggled the technology out of the military. Arthur knew he had been the person who taught Cobb how to enter dreams, how to build them so another would be able to come inside and act as though there was no threat.

It occurred to Arthur to simply nod and not tell Ariadne about her Professor and what he truly meant. Not only to the business but to their team and the insane mission of rescuing Dominic Cobb. But as he looked at her he realized that she needed to know. Cobb had kept secrets from them and they had seen just how damaging that could be. In the past year alone, Arthur could count fifty separate occasions where he had been tortured or killed either by or because of Mal. Taking a drink of the wine next to him, Arthur looked at Ariadne and began to speak.

"Professor Miles is Cobb's father in law," he said, "and before that he was Cobb's architecture professor."

"Cobb studied architecture under Professor Miles?" Ariadne demanded, her voice sharp. Arthur nodded, "seriously?"

"After Cobb stopped building and we began to need architects, Professor Miles recommended our first few," Arthur said, "he was-is-one of the pioneers of this technology."

"But after what Cobb did to his daughter why would Professor Miles ever help him?" Ariadne asked without thinking.

"You mean the suicide?"

"No I-" Ariadne stopped, her eyes widening as the truth crashed into her.

Arthur didn't know about Cobb's inception.

Immediately she realized that he had no way of knowing, that she only knew because Cobb was so racked with guilt he couldn't hold the secret in anymore. Because he had told Mal, not her. Arthur looked at her, surprise written all over his face before his features hardened with the realization of what she was saying. Stomach twisting, Ariadne stuck her hand in her pocket and gripped the chess piece laying in the fabric, looking down at her plate. She heard Arthur inhale sharply but for the life of her she couldn't bring herself to look up at him.

"What was the idea?" Arthur asked, his voice harder than Ariadne had ever heard.

"You're waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You can't be sure where it will take you. But it doesn't matter-because we'll be together."

Arthur said nothing. Even as he wanted to deny it and say it was impossible, that Cobb would never do something so dangerous, little the pieces began to add up. His entire body felt as if it was caught in the middle of the longest 'kick' ever. He had wondered, wondered why Cobb had been so sure they could do this. Why Mal kept appearing as though Cobb had done something wrong. Why Cobb seemed to know the little things, like how deep to go and how the idea had to be simple. Even Cobb's cynical words about ideas and parasites seemed to point go what had happened. Arthur felt like kicking himself for not realizing it sooner.

Especially since he had heard the shade form of Mal say those words.

The first time he hadn't thought anything of it, the second it had seemed strange and by the third he thought they might mean something but he knew better than to ask Cobb what it was. He had just chalked it up to something that they might have said to one another, both were certainly the type to have a much longer and more twisted way of professing love for each other than three little words. He had known whenever Mal said the words that they were directed at Cobb and he could see the effect they had on the thief. But there were plenty of things that had an effect on Cobb that Arthur had long since learned not to ask about.

It was only when their appetizers came that Arthur realized he had been lost in his own thoughts. Ariadne was sitting there, her eyes focused intently on the plate in front of her, though she had yet to reach for her fork. Belatedly Arthur realized that she hadn't meant to blurt out Cobb's secret like she had-if she had even meant to tell him the truth at all. She seemed very young in that moment, more like a grown up playing dress up than an adult in her own right. Her eyes darted upwards to look at him and he caught her gaze, holding it with his own.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

"Its okay," she said, "I shouldn't have told you like that-I don't know why but I thought you knew."

Arthur said nothing and Ariadne knew he had no idea. Even so she hadn't expected him to react like that. To go all silent and angry, as if he was turning over every time Cobb had mentioned Mal in his head. Looking at him, Ariadne was surprised at how unsettling it was to see the anger on his face. As she looked at him, Ariadne realized that it wasn't just anger. Or rather that the anger wasn't necessarily because he was angry. It was because he was hurt.

Because he had been betrayed.

"I didn't realize the three of you were so close," she added finally.

Arthur let out a breath he head not known he was holding, shifting in the plush fabric of the chair before moving forward and picking up his fork. Ariadne followed him, though he suspected it was more out of politeness than hunger.

"Generally speaking a team has three members: a point man, an extractor and an architect. Forgers are not always necessary and in certain cases they can be a serious liability. Chemists don't usually come into dreams aat all. The goal of an extraction job is to attain information without letting the mark know you have it."

Ariadne watched him, listening intently but not speaking. At her silence, Arthur continued.

"Cobb was an architect, a very good one at that. Mal was the extractor. She had a way of getting people to tell her things, things that they wouldn't have told anyone else," his lips curved up humorlessly at the memory, "most of my work was done with Cobb, creating the dream world and seeing to the details respectively while Mal got the information. "

Arthur shifted again, disliking sharing personal information but allowing necessity to over-ride such dislike.

"It was just the three of us most of the time. In the beginning the field was relatively small and no-one knew what to do with the dream thieves so splitting up and hiding was not necessary. We spent a fair amount of time together."

"So how come you weren't with them when they went into limbo?"

"In the scheme of things, extraction is a small business, but there are a surprising number of people who do it. More than you would think anyway. It became necessary to separate after jobs. They would pose as vacationing lovers or a couple fresh from their honeymoon. Even when we laid low they always stayed together, especially after their kids were born."

Ariadne looked at him but said nothing.

"They entered limbo in the off time, without a point man or a chemist to supervise. She was always curious, adventurous and when it came to her, 'no' wasn't really a word in Cobb's vocabulary. I imagine she pulled him into doing it with her and they got stuck."

"You don't know?" Ariadne asked, "he didn't tell you?"

"Did he tell you any of this?" Arthur asked.

Ariadne shook her head, thinking of how she had only found out what she had because she had brashly followed him into the dream. But she had only known Cobb for a few days. Cobb had proven not to be forthcoming with details about his personal life, none of them were, but she realized she had assumed that Arthur would either have known or figured out what had happened with Cobb-even if he had been unaware of the fact that the thief was keeping Mal alive in his dreams. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought of the secret and what it meant. Not only for Cobb but for the rest of the team as well. Appetite gone, Ariadne set down her fork and looked at her half consumed food.

"He killed her, you know," she said, her voice sounding listless to her own ears, "he told her that she was a shade, that this was all in his head and how he did it because he felt guilty about what happened. And then he killed her and I ran-or jumped-with Fischer."

Arthur watched the architect, saw the emotion that played across her face and the way she looked at her food as if it somehow held all the answers. She had caught onto the world they lived in with surprising speed, but there were aspects that no briefing could prepare you for. Things you had to experience to believe.

"The hardest part of the job is the clean up," Arthur said. Ariadne looked up at him, "there's no adrenaline, no mission, nothing but the loose ends that need to be tied up and the memories that need to be sorted through."

"It sucks," Ariadne said finally with a small sigh.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "it does," he leaned forward, "now was Professor Miles the only reason you came to study architecture in Paris or was it something else as well?" he asked, skillfully steering the conversation to decidedly more pleasant territory.

Ariadne looked up at him before looking back at her food, aware of what he was doing. It was on her lips to press him for further information, to ask questions about him and Mal and Cobb and how thing between them had gone so horribly wrong. But even as she considered doing it, she realized that there wasn't anything to be gained by forcing Arthur to dredge up the past. Or at least nothing worth the pain he'd probably go through in telling her what had happened to them. Looking at the point man Ariadne got a feeling that he didn't share personal information very easily. In a way she felt strangely touched that he had decided to tell her all that he had. Taking a drink of the wine in her glass, Ariadne looked up at the point man.

"I like old buildings," she said, "I like the glamour and the way the old buildings look like they're supposed to be as beautiful as the people who go in them. Most modern buildings seem-" she shrugged, "they seem cold in comparison," she smiled faintly, "my dream world always starts out blank but the old buildings always go up first."

"Well then I assume the clothing isn't too terrible for you," he said.

"Not really," she said with an offhanded smile, her finger picking up her fork and slowly resuming eating with him, "what's your dream world like?" she asked. Arthur looked at her silently, "come on, I told you mine!"

"Old movies," Arthur said finally, "my dream world usually looks like an old three-strip technicolor movie. The scene changes but the colors are brighter."

"Really? So you're a movie buff then?"

"I wouldn't say that," he said.

"So why old movies?" she asked, drinking her own wine, "I mean, its not like you struck me as the kind of guy who goes and watches the latest rom-com but I spend all day with models and buildings. You don't watch a lot of movies."

"I used to," Arthur said. Ariadne fixed him with her gaze and Arthur found himself talking without even thinking about it, "my grandfather never liked rom-com's either."

The image of a young Arthur sitting with his grandfather in some retro-movie house, dressed in a miniature version of the suite he currently wore suddenly popped into Ariadne's head. She bit her lip, somehow knowing that he would have his hair slicked back then as well, his shoes just as carefully polished, though she imagined his cuff's would be fastened with plastic buttons instead of the gold cufflinks he currently wore. Fighting the smile that tugged at her lip, Ariadne seized the opportunity he was giving her and leaned forward.

"So you were close with your grandfather then?" she said, "did he call you Artie?"

Arthur looked at her for a moment before mimicking her position and leaning forward. To her credit Ariadne remained where she was, her bright, intelligent eyes watching him carefully. A part of Arthur told him that telling her _anything _further was only going to lead to trouble. She knew too much already. But if her history with Cobb was any indication she was going to find out everything there was to know about him anyway. Furthermore, he reasoned, keeping secrets from fellow team members never did any good to anyone.

"Yes and I assume you mean to ask me if Arthur is my real name," the point man said. Ariadne looked at him suspicious, "it is," he said, leaning back his chair.

"I don't think I've met an Arthur in-well, in ever. Wait, no, my father had a business associate who was named Arthur but he was, like, seventy," she smiled disarmingly, "but I guess you've never met another Ariadne."

"It is a unique name," Arthur agreed finally, "though I'm sure your father's 'Arthur' was once a younger man as well."

Ariadne's smile widened, she clearly knew he was just teasing her. Arthur felt himself relax ever so slightly and from the easier posture Ariadne assumed, he knew the feeling was mutual.

"My grandfather and I shared the name," Arthur said, "did your parents tell you why they chose the name of a heroine from a greek myth for you? Not that it isn't fitting, an Ariadne whose good at puzzles."

Ariadne flushed slightly, reaching up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear before remembering she had pulled her hair back. Settling her hand in her lap, she fingered the top of the chess piece.

"It was my dad's idea," she said, "most of my father's family studies history or mythology. Greek too. My dad wanted a name that was unique but also meant something. He liked that even if Ariadne got herself into trouble she managed to find a way out."

"Very fitting," Arthur said with an appreciative nod.

As Arthur and Ariadne ate and spoke, neither was guarded. She spoke animatedly about her past, relating tales of her boarding school education and how she had hated high school but figured it was a good thing because she knew she would be leaving. Arthur told her of his own modest upbringing in a small mid-western town, where things like good wine and finely cut suites were things that were viewed with fascination and longing during the hours he spent with his grandfather who shared his tastes more than his parents had.

It was a surprise when the check came, neither having realized just how long they had been sitting there. The waiter moved for Arthur but Ariadne stopped him, taking the black leather in her own small hand.

"Ariadne," Arthur began.

"Don't be silly," Ariadne scolded, "you bought me an entire wardrobe and the scarf," she said touching the silk before handing the envelope back to the waiter with her card, "I can buy dinner."

Gentlemanly pride offended, Arthur still nodded his head.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," she said with a brilliant smile that almost made it worth it.

It was only when they stood up that Arthur realized he had no idea how much wine they had consumed. Ariadne laid a hand on the table, the effects shining on her face as well. For no reason, Arthur felt a laugh rise in his chest before he quickly turned it into a throat-clearing. Ariadne was not so quick and her laugh was punctuated by a snort, though she clapped her hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle it. Arthur looked around the room to see if any of the other patrons had noticed their behavior but the restaurant was deserted, save for a few couples off in other corners who seemed far too lost in each other to notice the pair of them.

"Arthur," Ariadne hissed, drawing his attention back, "I think I'm going to need your arm here."

"Of course," Arthur said, offering his arm to her, "heels a bit high?"

"You picked them out," Ariadne said sliding her arm through his, "and only after-" she stopped, frowning as they began to walk, "how many glasses?"

"I have no idea," Arthur said feeling the warmth of the wine go straight to his head.

"Come on," Ariadne said tugging his arm towards the elevators.

They stepped inside, closing the door behind them. Ariadne leaned against the wall, feeling the cool metal of the safety bar press into her side. Arthur leaned against the opposite wall, not touching the bar as the elevator music rose gently around them. Ariadne looked at Arthur, taking in the lines of his face through her wine-blurred vision. He was young, even younger now in the soft hotel lighting with his cheeks flushed and his eyes slightly closed. When the elevator stopped, Arthur straightened up and held out his arm, escorting her back to their room like a perfect gentleman.

"Thank God," Ariadne said, toeing off her heels and loosing three inches off her height. Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, "its a girl thing, Arthur, you wouldn't understand."

"Uncomfortable clothing is something everyone understands," Arthur said matter of faculty, undoing the knot in his tie and pulling the material free of his vest.

Ariadne laughed, reaching up to the back of her head and pulling the pins from her hair, shaking the espresso locks out. Arthur's hands paused. The warm lights of the hotel room made her hair glow a thousand different shades of espresso and caramel, the color as rich as the dress she wore. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in a smile that seemed to light up her eyes. It was a rare thing, to smile in such an unguarded manner. She didn't seem young or naive as she smiled at him, she was simply breathtaking. Her eyes met his and softened, her smile widening and when Arthur realized that she was smiling for _him_ and he truly forgot to breathe.

He watched as she moved across the room, heading to the sleekly hidden tv and clicking a few buttons. Arthur watched her before she turned around and faced him, the same breathtaking smile on her lips. Ariadne's smile widened at his stupefied look. On her toes she turned around and faced him, fully enjoying the sight of a slightly off guard Arthur. At his silence, Ariadne realized he probably hadn't heard her question. Biting her lip in a failed attempt to hide her widening smile, Ariadne stepped over to Arthur.

"I'm sorry, what?" Arthur said, seeming to realize she had spoken.

"I asked if you knew how to dance," she said.

"Decently," he said.

"Good," she replied, "dance with me."

He was helpless to deny her, though in the back of his mind he knew that this was a dangerous road to travel down. His hand easily found its way to the middle of her back as hers rested on his shoulder. Her hand was small and warm in his, slightly calloused from the constant abuse of her art. The music that came from the tv wasn't like the string quartet down in the restaurant. It was something brighter, happier, with a distinctly more jazzy appeal to it. It was easy to find the beat of the music, to sway them back and forth to the melody.

Ariadne was a surprisingly good dancer, her small body fitting very well against his. She managed to follow his lead perfectly, something he had always found rare. She moved easily as well, her grace equally surprising considering the amount of wine they had both consumed.

"You've been trained," Arthur said as he spun her deftly.

"So have you," Ariadne said.

"By my grandfather, in his attic," Arthur said.

"So I've had a few lessons," Ariadne said, a note of defensiveness in her tone, "I wasn't born in skinny jeans with a pen in my hand you know."

"And a scarf around your neck," he added.

"That too," she said, "you keep complimenting me and we might have to dance over there," she said nodding her head towards the bedroom.

A part of Arthur whole heartedly agreed with the general direction of what she was suggesting. Another part of him said to skip the bedroom entirely and just take things further on the plush carpet underneath their feet. They were both very drunk. A part of him reasoned that it wouldn't be _entirely_ taking advantage of her. But the rest of him knew that no matter the justification, if they had drunken sex now they would both regret it later. Especially given how things had played out with them so far. Pulling her back against him, Arthur smiled at the architect. Ariadne crinkled her nose as if she already knew what he was going to say.

"I guess next time we should be more careful with the wine," she said, yielding to his gentlemanly ways and saving them both the embarrassment of rejection, "though most boys wouldn't have a problem with it."

"I'm not most boys," Arthur said, "nor am I a boy," he added, "I am older than you."

"By five years," Ariadne said with an eyeroll, "my parents have a larger age difference."

"Be that as it may," Arthur began, "we have more than enough time. In this world."

Ariadne looked at him, her eyes scanning his face. He didn't look away from her eyes, as if he had nothing to hide from her inspection. Arthur continued to move them to the music, seeming to find their intoxication nothing but a passing inconvenience.

"So I won't wake up with you halfway across the globe?" she said, turning her head to the side to study his reaction.

"Not unless you're on the plane next to me," Arthur replied easily.

"What if its a boat?" she asked, "or a train?"

"We use boats and trains for jobs," he said. Ariadne raised an eyebrow, "think about it. A small, enclosed space where people usually fall asleep with very little trouble makes for an ideal job site."

"I guess the movement helps too," she said.

"Sometimes," he said, "one time the boat we were on was caught in a hurricane."

"That must've made the dream interesting," she said.

"You could say that," Arthur agreed.

Ariadne was silent as the music changed, content to dance with Arthur in the emptiness of their hotel room. Arthur's grandfather must have been a very good dancer for the point man to be as skilled as he was. The image of mini-Arthur, learning to dance at the instruction of a tweed-clad older-Arthur brought an even wider smile to her lips. Arthur looked her curiously, though the effect was dampened by the smile that curved his own mouth.

"I bet you were a cute kid," Ariadne said, fighting not to laugh at the arch of eyebrow he shot her way.

Arthur was instantly glad that there was no way for her to know whether he had been cute or not. He saw the tiredness that shone in Ariadne's gaze. With a faint smile, Arthur stopped their movements. Ariadne's eyes opened, looking up at him.

"I think its time for bed," she said with an embarrassed smile, stepping back from him before moving quickly forward and pressing her lips to his cheek, "I had a great time tonight."

"Me too," Arthur said. Ariadne moved towards the doors, "goodnight."Arthur added quickly.

"Night," Ariadne said with a final smile before disappearing into her room,

Arthur moved into his own, closing the door behind him.

Leaning his head against the cool wood of the door, Arthur breathed in slowly. He knew that their separation was for the best, but his entire body seemed to ache for the woman in the other room. It had been a very long time since he had felt anything like that. Especially for another team member. Forcing the air from his lungs, Arthur pushed himself away from the door, his fingers going to the buttons of his vest. He undressed with care, folding his clothes and laying them across the back of a chair in a neat pile. Walking over to the bed, Arthur slid under the sheets, dragging them up over his shoulder. He knew he was going to have to tread carefully-something that would be undoubtably difficult given Ariadne's uncanny ability to make him let down his guard.

But he had seen what happened when people in their line of work fell in love.

His last thought before true sleep was of Mal and Dom.

A knock on the door woke Arthur from his slumber.

Irritably opening one eye, he pushed himself up. Running a hand over his face, he discarded the last remnants of sleep as he got to his feet. Grabbing a bathrobe, he tied it over his underclothing. Opening the door to his bedroom, he glanced over to see Ariadne already standing in the doorway of her own room. Her eyes met his as her fingers finished knotting the tie of her own bathrobe. Arthur motioned for her silence before walking across the room towards the door. Heart pounding, Ariadne watched as Arthur looked through the peep hole, surprise written on his features. Much to Ariadne's surprise he opened the door without a moment's hesitation, though when he did she immediately saw why he had.

Framed in the doorway, hands neatly tucked into the pockets of his immaculate blue suit, stood Robert Fischer Jr.

"You know, for projections of my subconscious," he said reaching up and removing his sunglasses, "you two certainly are _quite_ lifelike," he returned his hands to his pockets and surveyed them both with an unnervingly bright blue stare, "now would you like to let me in or shall I call hotel security and have you both thrown in jail?"

Ariadne knew he had nothing on either of them.

Just as she knew it wouldn't make a difference.

Even though Arthur didn't look at her, she knew his mind was working along the same lines. He had to have enough experience with the rich and powerful to know just what they could do. Framing two people who had barely made it through customs would be a walk in the park for Fischer. A thousand questions tumbled through Ariadne's mind. They had been careful, they had disappeared, but Fischer had found them. Fischer who wasn't even supposed to know they had pulled a job on him. Ariadne bit the inside of her cheek as her stomach sank. What if this was her fault? If Arthur had kept running maybe they wouldn't be in their current predicament. She looked at Fischer but he was unreadable. The businessman simply stood there, waiting patiently, already clearly knowing that they had no other choice. Not without risking everything.

With no other option he could see, Arthur stepped aside and let Fischer into the hotel room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay first off my apology for the 'draft' form that went up. I'm jetlagged and I was soo excited to get something up for this story I totally posted the wrong thing. **

**So a huge thank you goes to Glee Plane and Draft-Board who saw the mistake and told me about it in the nicest way possible! **

**Now back to the story. **

**(P.S. sorry for the delay)**

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Robert Fischer Jr. stepped into the hotel room, his blue eyes coolly surveying the surroundings with the disinterest of one who was accustom to lavishness.

Watching him stand there, Ariadne stuck her hand in her pocket and gripped the pawn for all she was worth. The sickening clarity of the situation made her certain it was not a dream, though she found herself wishing desperately that it was. Fischer moved fully into the room, still silent as Arthur shut the door behind him. Ariadne caught the point man's eye but Arthur's gaze quickly returned to Fischer as the former mark turned around so he was between the two of them. For one horrible moment no-one moved.

Then a knock sounded on the door.

Ariadne and Arthur turned towards it. Fischer pressed his lips together in obvious distaste before crossing the space and opening the door himself. A waiter came in, pushing a cart loaded with breakfast and a coffee service. If the waiter found anything odd with the room he had walked into, he knew better than to acknowledge it. He set up the room service order and quickly departed, not even asking for a signature from Arthur who looked as if he was thinking of all the ways he could kill Fischer with a pen. Clearly enjoying the situation, Fischer surveyed the group of them with sharp eyes before walking over to the coffee and selecting a cup, fixing it to his preference and moving over to the low chairs, undoing the top button of his blazer and sitting in one.

"Please," the businessman said, "help yourselves. From what I understand you have had quite the past two days."

Arthur's brow furrowed but Ariadne figured out instantly what he meant. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the man. Fischer had traced her credit card. A hundred protests came to her lips, rights of privacy tumbled through her head but the sight of Fischer sitting there rendered them all moot. In the pocket of her robe, Ariadne tightened her fingers around the smooth surface of her chess piece. It might have been her first job but even she knew that it was bad when their mark found them-if their mark indeed had ever found them before. Maybe she was just the first architect stupid enough to think that a man as connected as Fischer was incapable of finding them.

"What do you want?" Ariadne asked, her voice dull to her own ears. She felt Arthur's eyes on her but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She had led Fischer right to them, "do you want revenge or-"

"Revenge? Don't be ridiculous," Fischer said, Arthur's sharp inhale making it clear he didn't like the tone of their former mark, "I want to hire you."

"We're not interested," Arthur said quickly.

"I think you will be," Fischer said looking at them before setting down his coffee and standing up, "I want to hire you to extract Saito from-" he cast about, looking for the right word, "from wherever he's been lost."

It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Neither of them were able to move. Ariadne looked shocked and even Arthur's mask had slipped somewhat from its usually firm position. Insides Arthur was seething. He had known something was off when they got inside Fischer's mind and a fucking _train_ tried to crush them. Admittedly he had been somewhat distracted during his background check of the client, the mere idea of pulling off an inception-with a new team member no less-threw him slightly off his game. But generally speaking the world they operated in was small enough that if someone had been trained in subconscious defense, it was fairly easy to see. Especially when they were people like Fischer and Saito who expected only the best.

Something was very _very_ wrong here.

Even worse, his usual armor was gone. He looked like a twenty nine year old in a bathrobe, not the competent, cool point man who could stare down a brick wall. He felt exposed. Shoving the distaste to the back of his mind, he focused on what he knew. Fischer obviously had obviously been trained and had it done quietly enough that it hadn't shown up in the research. Off the top of his head Arthur could think of three extractors capable of pulling off such a feat. But there was more. From the fact that Fischer seemed to be perfectly calm about what was going on, he knew what they had done to him. He was smart enough to know not to approach the situation angry, though Arthur would have bet his die that the man sitting in front of them was livid. Livid enough to want revenge on the man who had hired them to implant an idea in his head. A thousand questions went through Arthur's mind but he kept them to himself. he wasn't going to give Fischer _any_ further information. Not until Fischer gave them something more to go on.

"I must commend you both on a job well done," Fischer said, "your idea was flawless, your execution was impeccable-with one small hitch of course-and without certain team members being incapacitated, your escape would have been fine," he sat down, "which begs the question, 'how did I find out?'"

Arthur held his silence.

He had dealt with men like Fischer before, he had been hired by a few of them. He wanted a show. He wanted them to know just how completely they had been beat. Arthur refused to give him any microscopic ammount of additional satisfaction. Ignoring him, Fischer got to his feet and walked over to the cherry wood cabinet that held the TV. They heard the TV flicker to life as Fischer began to surf through the channels, resuming his monologue, disregarding Arthur's silence.

"Since you seem to be a reasonably knowledgeable man, you know that someone in my position spends a considerable amount on security. Obviously certain areas of that security are, shall we say, lacking?" he sighed, "others, however, are not."

Three sets of eyes landed on the heavily made up newswoman, Saito's image projected on the green screen beside her.

"...we wish him well. In later news today, stockholders were outraged at the news of Saito's purchase of Virgin Airlines. News of the sale came after the energy tycoon suffered an apparent heart attack on his trans-pacific flight which, according to sources closest to him, has left the once-healthy Saito in a comatose state."

Fischer clicked off the tv and turned to the pair of them.

"Its incredible, these days, what passes for a 'tycoon'," Fischer muttered with a shake of his head, "well as you can imagine, a competitor buying an entire company sets off a few alarm bells-especially if that competitor is floundering as badly as Saito was."

Arthur's anger was almost blinding. It made perfect sense how Fischer had figured it out. He had been worried when Saito had insisted on coming along, half the time he was certain that Fischer was going to recognize his competitor. But in true 'artist' fashion Cobb had insisted and he had been powerless to change his mind. He could not have helped that. Saito making a highly ostentatious purchase, however, he could have figured out a way to stop-or at the very least to hide better. He should have planned for this scenario. It was his _job_ to plan for scenarios like this and he had failed spectacularly on that end.

He glanced past Fischer to look at Ariadne, half expecting her to look far more young than she had the night before. But the young architect looked actually completely unreadable. True the tousled espresso curls and makeup-free face took maturity away from her but the hard, blank look on her face made her seem oddly older. Feeling his gaze on her, her eyes darted away from Fischer and rose to lock with his own. Though he wanted nothing more than to beat Fischer within an inch of his overprivileged life, Arthur forced himself to think. A man like Ficher was not stupid enough to just come here on his own and he certainly had people on his payroll who would do what he asked whether they thought it was insane or not.

"Now," Fischer continued, "you have two options. One, you accept my offer-double your usual fee of course-and perform the extraction. Or, two, you refuse me and I have the two of you thrown in jail to rot for the rest of your, presumably, long lives."

Ariadne felt as if the floor had dropped. She felt like she was back in the dream, caught in the kick. Except there was no kick, no wake up-it wasn't a dream. But the feeling of falling was painfully real. Fischer looked between the pair of them, the smugness on his face unmistakable. He knew what their answer would be, just as well as they knew it. They had to say yes, or they would rot in jail for the rest of their lives. Dread, anger, a hundred other emotions churned painfully in Araidne's stomach. And as she stood there looking at Fischer, she was overcome with the strangest desire to burst into tears.

She fought the desire back.

Instead of focusing on the smug look on Fischer's face, she looked over at Arthur. Even to her untrained eye the Point Man looked absolutely furious. Anger, she decided, didn't suite him. It was unsettling to see such emotion clear on Arthur's normally calm face. She just felt sick. There was no doubt in her mind that Fischer could throw them both in jail and make sure they rotted. It didn't matter that technically they had done nothing illegal, they were as good as dead if he wanted them to be. Arthur looked as if he was a breath from strangling Fischer with his bare hands.

"Why?" she blurted out, immediately wishing that she had sounded a fraction more confident when she spoke.

Both men looked at her and suddenly she felt naked in front of them. Forcing herself not to clutch at the neck of her bathrobe or shove her hands into her pockets and finger her chess piece, Ariadne kept her eyes on Fischer. She had a terrible feeling that if she made eye contact with Arthur she really would start to cry. Focusing her eyes on Fischer, she kept her gaze locked with his. Much to her surprise, Fischer seemed to consider what she had asked for a moment before a ghost of a smile played across his lips.

"Why what?" he asked.

The urge to cry suddenly evaporated at the tone of Fischer's voice. Whatever he thought she was, he clearly did not think she belonged in the situation she was in. Ariadne felt oddly like she was a child, with an adult looking at her as if she should be sitting at the children's table-something her father never would have stood for. But she had learned that drawing herself up and acting older was not something that worked. So instead she looked down before looking up at him, trying to strike the balance between bashful and confident.

"Why do you want us to get Mr. Saito?" she asked, "you've still got your company-"

Fischer looked at her with those ice blue eyes, his face oddly unreadable and Ariadne trailed off, not sure how much he knew or what she was going to say. Did people give reasons for their inception? Or was it more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' affair? How was she possibly to know? Her only consolation was that Fischer did not seem to know either, his eyes looking at her as if he could not quite figure out the answer to her question-or if he even should give one.

"That's not important," he said, his eyes hardening and Ariadne knew that she had lost any headway her assumed innocence might have given her. His posture straightened subtlety, his hands tucking once more into his pockets, "my offer is on the table," he glanced back at Arthur, "as is your other choice," he looked back at her, "its up to you now."

"My associate and I need to discuss this," Arthur said, his calm control traded for a brisk efficiency as he strode past Fischer, his hand easily locking around Ariadne's upper arm as he pulled them both towards her room.

"If you run, Mr. Stone, I will find you," Fischer said.

Arthur closed the door in his face and his threat.

His hand released her arm but Arthur kept going over to the window before stopping in front of her half-finished model of limbo, his hands grasping the edges of the table as if he needed something solid to hold onto. Ariadne leaned against the wall heavily, her heart pounding in her ears as her legs seemed to turn to jelly underneath her. Her eyes took in the sight of Arthur gripping the table, his face carefully turned away from her before she looked up at the ceiling.

The sight of him like this was the last thing she wanted to see-the last thing she needed to see given that on the other side of the door stood a man who was threatening them both. His anger at the situation made it clear that this was an unusual circumstance to say the least. She imagined that Arthur strongly disliked being threatened and disliked it even more when there were other people involved. People like her, people he felt the need to take care of because they were too stupid and overconfident to ask for help and instead needed their new 'friend' to chase them across continents to check up. People who led other people like their old mark right to them.

"We're screwed."

Arthur winced at the sound of her voice. Screwed truly was the only way he could think of describing their current situation. Men with Fischer's resources, with Fischer's grudges, they did not quit. Not when they could have the satisfaction of revenge, of showing the person that had won the first round that that first round had only been a battle. That they would be the one to win the war.

Love was going to be the death of him.

It had consumed Mal and Cobb until even the simplest inception-if such a thing could be considered simple-was impossible without them colliding. He had underestimated just how close Dom would keep Mal, just as it seemed he had now underestimated just how much Fischer had loved his father. Or rather, how sensitive Fischer had been about the subject of his father. Mark's did not come back like this, not ever. Not unless they hadn't done their job right. And it this case it seemed that the person who had not done his job properly was him.

Forcing his eyes open, Arthur looked at the half finished model of limbo. Dominic had called in 'pure creation' and Arthur understood the moniker. Half finished buildings sloped out of the base, rising to their complete glory before falling away into nothingness once more. A city created from endless time and shared minds. Minds that melded together, despite the fact that Mal and Cobb could have gone to limbo and lived for decades without ever seeing each other.

Realization crashed over him like a wave.

Pushing himself away from the table Arthur crossed the room, half blinded by the rage that tore through him. Nothing mattered, not Ariadne, not the proposed job or the consequences for saying no. Nothing except for crossing that room, picking up the heaviest object he could find and pummeling Robert Fischer Jr. until the son of a bitch forgot his own damn name.

Only Ariadne stepping in front of the door stopped him.

"What's going on?" she demanded, "Arthur-Arthur!" she said his name urgently, her eyes locking with his, "what's going on?" she repeated, "talk to me," she continued, her voice low and urgent, "what is it?"

Arthur looked at her silently, finding it almost impossible to speak past the overwhelming desire to beat Fischer. But her chocolate eyes locked with his and refused to look away, even though the fear and confusion in their depths was as naked as his own white hot anger. For a single impossibly long moment neither of them moved, both silently wondering what the other was going to do, if he was going to make the situation worse, if there was any way for her to stop him.

It was years of learning to control himself that allowed him to pull back from the anger, to force himself to stop and look at the young, scared woman in front of him who seemed torn between tears and hiding until Fischer just went away. No matter how badly things had gone, no matter how everything had gone to shit, it was _his_ job to make sure the artists got home in one piece. It was his responsibility.

He could not fall apart, no matter how much everything about their current situation screamed of his incompetence.

"He's after Cobb," Arthur said, forcing himself to take a step away from the door.

"What?" Ariadne gasped, her eyes widening, "but he said-"

"He's lying," Arthur cut in, "he's after revenge on all of us. He wants us to get Cobb back from limbo as well so he can make him suffer."

Ariadne stared at him, wishing that he was wrong. If Fischer wanted them all to suffer for what they had done then that meant he wanted _all_ of them. Her, Eames, Arthur, Dom, Yusuf, Saito-everyone who had been involved in what they had done, even if their inception hadn't worked as they had hoped.

"But how do you know that?" she asked her voice small, "all he said was that he wanted us to get Saito or he'll throw us in jail. How do you know he wants revenge?"

Arthur looked at her, the anger seeming to leave him faster by the second-even as her own terror seemed to increase with every frantic pound of her heart. Forcing air through her lungs she focused on him, trying to erase the image of him so close to loosing control from her head. If Arthur was in control, then they had something to go on. Then _she_ had something she could hold onto. Something that made sense, that stayed firm, even as the world seemed intent on spiraling into hell.

"You don't just go into limbo to get an enemy back," Arthur said.

"Really?" Ariadne asked.

"He wants to make Saito suffer and he wants him to know that he's the one doing it," Arthur said, "and if he wants to do that to Saito he wants to do it to the people who he hired."

"That means Eames and Yusuf-" she began.

"There's a good chance has them," Arthur replied.

"Cobb too?" she asked.

Arthur nodded. Ariadne barely stopped herself from saying 'and us'. it went without saying and Ariadne had a feeling that if she voiced the fact that the man on the other side of the door probably wanted to use them before torturing them, she would loose any courage she had.

"What do we do?" she asked, too afraid to worry about how young her voice sounded, even to her own ears.

Arthur looked over at her. What were they going to do? A part of him said they should find a way out of the room and run like hell. But the rest of him remembered how each time he saw Cobb the man looked worse. As if running for his life somehow took his life from him. And Cobb had been experienced at his job, at the world of criminals and double crosses. Arthur had not wanted that kind of life for himself and as he looked at Ariadne he realized that he could not condemn her to it either. Not like this. Not on her first job and definitely not because of Robert Fischer Jr.'s clearly exasperated daddy issues.

"For now we play along," he said.

Ariadne looked at him, her fear edged in disbelief and immediately Arthur wished that they had another way out. Almost as much as he wished that she had not seen him so blinded by anger. He needed the artists to have faith in his ability to do his job, and instead he had given her every reason to doubt him. He forced himself to hold her gaze, to not let her look away or allow himself the luxury. It was difficult enough to steal something from someone's subconscious, to play the game in the dream world. But playing it twofold, that would be close to impossible.

Fortunately, it seemed that impossible things were occurring quite frequently now.

"Then what?" Ariadne asked, not moving away from the door, "what happens next?"

Their eyes held each other but Ariadne did not have to hear him speak to know what he was about to say. Then they played the dangerous game of turning it around and beating Fischer with the terrible cards he had dealt them. The fact that the idea did not seem completely insane to her was a troubling one. But not troubling enough to make her step aside and unblock the door. Arthur held her eyes for a moment longer before he stepped into the room.

Ariadne let out a breath she had not known she was holding, leaning heavily against the wall. She was a terrible terrible liar. How in the name of God was she supposed to pretend they were not thinking of ways to get out of their current situation? What if she gave everything away? What if it was her fault again that their entire mission went to hell? Ariadne looked over at the window, knowing they were too high up for her to jump but wishing all the same that she had a way to run. Just start running and never ever stop.

Only the thought of what would happen to the others if she ran made her stop.

If they got into more trouble because she was a coward, that was something she could not live with. Even if Yusuf and Arthur and Eames had far more experience with the world of extraction than she did. Forcing herself forward, Ariadne pushed herself to move towards the main room, just in time to see the two men shake hands as if this was a normal business transaction. As if sensing she was there, both men turned to look at her.

"I'm going to get dressed," Ariadne said and stepped into the room before either of them could act as though they gave her permission to do it.

Walking over the wardrobe, Ariadne pulled open the doors and looked at the clothing nestled inside. She would have traded all of them for her skinny jeans. Instead she pulled a pair of dark brown tweed pants and a silk blouse with loose sleeves the color of caramel. A quick look presented a matching jacket to the pants and Ariadne topped it off with a pair of low heeled chocolate boots. Looping her scarf around her neck, the Architect walked back over to the door and pulled it open, stepping out into the room.

Much to her dismay, only Fischer occupied it.

He was drinking from a coffee cup, his other hand working the keys of his phone as he typed a message of some sort. He looked oddly young, typing with one hand, since most of the adults she knew needed both thumbs to type with any kind of speed. As she looked at him she saw the tell-tale signs of someone who had not slept in a while. A while, excluding of course the drug induced Inception sleep they had placed him in. The red in his eyes was made even clearer by their pale color and the shadows ringing them.

He had been crying.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. After all she had seen him cry when they had shown him his father and made the man's last words a hopeful message to his son. But everything from his slightly tousled hair to the redness of her eyes spoke of a man who had been weeping and not sleeping. A man who had felt grief at the passing of a father whose relationship had been bad enough for them to use to infiltrate his mind. Ariadne looked over at the coffee.

"It's not poisoned," Fischer said, not looking up from his phone, "it would most likely interfere with the drugs you need to take for inception."

Heat flooded Ariadne's cheeks as she looked over at Fischer, feeling like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. His ice blue eyes rose from the phone to glance at her before returning to the phone in his hand, continuing to type. A part of Ariadne remembered every lecture she had ever been given on date rape drugs and not taking drinks or candy from strangers. The rest of her remembered that it had been a long night and she could already begin to feel the caffeine headache.

Fixing her coffee, Ariadne took a sip of the liquid before looking over at the door to see if Arthur would step through. He did not. Biting her lip, Ariadne looked down. Being along with Fischer was just about the last place she wanted to be. She could feel his eyes on the back of her neck sometimes and sometimes back on his phone. The silence that stretched between them was oppressive. Finally Ariadne turned to the businessman.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said, "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me but I know loosing a family member sucks."

If it had been any other situation, any other person, Ariadne would have laughed outright at the look on Fischer's face. The businessman very nearly dropped his phone in shock and even when he fumbled a recovery, his eyes still showed surprise at what she had said. He looked torn between wanting to cross the room and slap her and something else. Something Ariadne would have bet was bursting into tears. Instead, much to her surprise, he cleared his throat as if he was uncomfortable with the situation and gave a curt nod.

"Thank you," he said, before turning back to the phone.

That gave Ariadne more information about him than she was certain he would have liked. Clearly the man had been trained to be polite and while he had only cleared his throat, she knew that was more of a show of his emotions than he would have wanted to give. During the entire job, actually, until the end he had been mostly calm and collected. Despite the fact that to his knowledge people had infiltrated his dreams and were trying to steal his secrets. They had kidnapped him and forced him through layers of dream space. Ariadne remembered her first experience with the dream world and how she had come running back in a pure panic. And she had known what was going on.

"You're younger than the rest of them," Fischer said, his voice freezing Ariadne with the coffee cup halfway to her lips.

"Only by a few years," she said, her eyes meeting his over the top of his phone.

In another show of oddly unending politeness Fischer slipped the phone into his pocket. Ariadne looked at him cautiously. He had no need to be polite to her, especially not after what they had done which had obviously infuriated him enough to cook up the scheme.

"That's not what I meant," he said, "you're newer to this," he continued, motioning around the room.

"I-" Ariadne began, thinking of a lie to give him.

"Don't bother," he advised, "I know all about you, all about Arthur, all about everyone."

For one horrible moment Ariadne wanted to ask to see Arthur's file.

Then the anger swelled up in her and she stopped herself. She wanted to slap him. They were having a relatively nice almost conversation and then he just threw out that he had filed on all of them? Anger pulsed through her as she looked at him. Turning away she took a drink of her coffee and set the cup down with more force than was necessary.

"Telling people you have blackmail material on them is not polite conversation," she snapped, turning on her heel before he could retort and striding over to Arthur's bedroom door, "are you ready?" she demanded knocking on it.

The door opened to reveal Arthur fixing the knot in his tie though it was already perfect. He was dressed in a slate grey three piece suit that rivaled the tailored perfect look of Fischer's own navy suit. His dark hair had been slicked back and the Point Man suddenly looked much older than he had before. He looked at Ariadne before glancing over at Fischer who had already looked away. Before he could say something Ariadne pushed him back into the bedroom and closed the door.

"Ariadne-" he began.

"He's got files on us," she hissed to him.

Arthur looked at her. Ariadne ran a hand through her hair, seemingly torn between anger and sobbing. For a second Arthur felt fear settle in his stomach like a lead knot, the impossible 'what if he hurts the people I've tried to protect' fear crashing over him. But he pushed it aside and looked at Ariadne.

"No he doesn't," he said quickly.

"Huh?" Ariadne looked at him, "how do you know?"

"It's a trick," Arthur explained, keeping his voice low and calm, "he probably has a few pictures with you standing with some older people from the back or you playing with a child from a bad angle. He'll show it to you and you'll tell him the rest."

"So he doesn't know about my parents?" she asked.

"It's highly doubtful," Arthur said to her, "and if he does then you deny it until he thinks he's wrong."

Ariadne looked at him and then down at her feet feeling, once again, like an idiot. Of course he wouldn't know and it would be a trick. But she had shoved Arthur back into his bedroom and-

She froze.

She was in Arthur's bedroom. Despite being a somewhat mature, obviously competent woman, the idea that she was in Arthur's bedroom seemed oddly like she had crossed some boundary or done something she shouldn't have. Arthur looked down at her, curiosity on his face and she realized that she had gone rigid against the door. Forcing herself to relax, she let out a breath of air as if his words had been a huge relief.

"Okay, deny it. Got it," she said.

"Also it would probably be a good idea not to speak to him unless you have to," Arthur suggested.

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that now," she said pushing herself away from the wall.

His room was pristine, as she had known it would be. Everything was in it's proper place from the clothes in his wardrobe to the bathrobe hung up neatly along the side of the closet. His briefcase was sitting closed on the desk, obviously all his work having been done that night. But what really got her was that the bed had been made. Corners tucked in, even the duvet that they put on top of the sheets to make it look nice had been folded neatly along the end of the bed.

"Do you have OCD?" she blurted out looking at him.

"Do I have what?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows raising.

"Sorry, I'm just wondering. Everything's so neat in here and you're always so neat-"

"I'm organized," Arthur said with about as much comfort as Fischer had shown when she offered her condolences to for the death of his father before he looked at his watch, "we should get out there."

"Right," Ariadne agreed with a last glance at the room before following him out into the main one.

"Are we going?" Arthur demanded, his long legs easily carrying him over to where Fischer was standing.

Ariadne took the opportunity to make a beeline for the coffee cart and down what was left of hers. Caffeine withdrawal was the very last thing she needed at the moment, what with being kidnapped and blackmailed and who knew what else.

"Yes," Fischer said, "our car should be downstairs."

Ariadne set down her coffee, looking between the two of them and feeling rather like she was in the middle of an old-fashioned stand off. All that was missing were the cowboy hats and boots. The idea of seeing Arthur in a cowboy hat and Fischer in a pair of fringed chaps was so ridiculous that Ariadne had to press her lips together to keep from smiling at it.

By the time they left the room however, the smile was all but gone from her face and her mind. They rode down the elevator in silence and walked through the lobby. They did not stop at the front desk, as if things like packing and checking out somehow did not apply to them. It struck Ariadne as strange but neither man seemed to find anything wrong with the situation.

They walked out into the bright Parisian sunlight and Ariadne slowed her feet, looking back at the hotel before dragging her eyes around the city. The idea of running crossed her mind but she furiously stamped it down. She was a part of this now and she was not just going to run. Not if she could help. Fischer led them to a long black limousine and a uniformed chauffeur quickly came around the side of the car and pulled open the door. But Ariadne could not bring herself to slide into the interior, not yet. Not with the sun of her face and that last tempting bit of freedom pulling at her.

"Ariadne," she turned to look over at the soft call of her name, her eyes landing on Arthur.

He did not need to say anything but she knew immediately what he was saying. What he was offering. He'd understand too, that was the bitch of it. He'd understand and she knew when the job was done he'd track her down again and check to make sure she was alright. But just beyond him she could see Fischer standing there and she knew, somehow, that if she left now she would never see the point man again.

And even though the only concrete things she knew about him were that his name was Arthur, he was twenty nine years old and he was in denial about his borderline OCD, she knew that if she never saw him again the world would be a much colder place. It hurt to force her face into a smile, just as it hurt to step forward. Not physically but somewhere much deeper inside. But she made herself do it and walk to the limo's open door, sliding inside the cushioned interior.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust and Ariadne wondered how long it would take to get a pair of sunglasses. Blinking, she scooted over to let Fischer and Arthur in, feeling grateful when it was Arthur's thigh that bumped hers rather than Fischer's. Before her eyes could fully adjust, the other occupant of the limo spoke.

"You know darling," a voice began, drawing their eyes to the other occupants of the limousine, "if you wanted to see me so soon after our last job all you had to do was call."

Arthur's eyes widened. Even in the shadows of the car Eames looked terrible, though given the Forger's penchant for annoying people and his dislike of being told what to do, Arthur could not say he was surprised. Yet he still felt uneasy with the bruises on his face and the cuffs on his hands. But even so Eames managed to flash a broad grin and stretch out in the limo as if he had planned all of this.

"Eames?"

Both of them looked over at Ariadne's horrified whisper of his name. The Architect looked stunned at the sight of him and Arthur realized that this was the first time she had seen a victim of torture, certainly one as bad off as Eames. She looked as if she was going to be sick. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, but Eames beat him to it.

"A word of advice dear. Don't let Arthur play 'barbie' with you anymore. The poor man gets so enthusiastic before you know it you'll be wearing those damn vests of his."

The limo pulled away and Eames shifted in his seat in an effort to get more comfortable. Arthur would have bet money that they had bruised his ribs as well. Ariadne moved to the long seat in the middle of the limo and slid across it to where he was sitting.

"What happened? What did they do to you?" she looked unsure of where to touch him or even if she should.

"Really it's nothing," Eames said turning his head to her before looking back at Fischer, "I've been beaten by better men who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty."

"They beat you?" Ariadne demanded, her voice high, though it was clear that they had done exactly that.

Arthur went to move towards his friends but a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked over at Fischer who glanced at him.

"Let the children play," he said, stopping him from moving.

Arthur looked at his new boss, biting his tongue in a desperate effort to hold his silence. Looking back at the pair of them he saw Eames flash a roguish smile, the effect somewhat dampened by the unnatural swell of his bottom lip. But he saw Ariadne relax somewhat as the Forger joked and teased, doing his best to show that he was not in pain or hurt beyond repair.

"Here," Fischer held out a digital camera which Arthur accepted, looking at the picture.

Suddenly the fear he had felt before and pushed aside came crashing down a thousand times worse. He had told Ariadne that there was nothing to worry about, that there was no way that Fischer could know about her family and the only thing that he would know was what she would tell him. However the picture was not of a woman with Ariadne's smile or of a man with her eyes.

It was of _them_

He recognized his coat and her old jeans as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and steered her through the Parisian foot traffic. His thumb found the button to look at the next photo unheeded and he pressed it, moving the photo to the next one. This was of them in the hotel, her in a bathrobe him in his button down and both of them leaning forward and smiling at each other.

The third photo was of them kissing.

Her hands were on his shoulders, his arms were wrapped around her waist, their bodies leaning into one another. Arthur turned off the camera, handing it back to Fischer and struggling to keep his face blank as he looked at the man. Fischer easily accepted the camera and slid it back into his pocket, turning to look at Arthur who could not bring himself to do the same. If he looked at Fischer he would snap and he would kill him with his bare hands and that would get them nowhere.

"I've heard time runs differently in the dreams and while my experience is lacking," Fischer continued coldly, "I must wonder if time passed and you had a relationship or if she's just easy."

"You son of a bitch," Arthur turned to look at him, his eyes flashing with cold fury as his hand automatically curled into a fist.

"If you try to run or play the game on me I will torture you both," he looked at Ariadne and Fischer before his eyes landed on Arthur, looking at the furious man with the confidence of one who knew he had won, "but I'll start with her and I will make you watch."

How he managed to remain in his seat was something Arthur would never understand. He looked away from Fischer, forcing his gaze onto the carpet between his polished shoes. Mentally he kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid? So careless? He knew something was going to happen but he should have planned for this. For someone being able to use their brief kiss against them. Against him. He did not need to look back to know that Fischer was even more satisfied with himself. His eyes rose past Eames' obviously twisted ankle to where Ariadne was kneeling, just as, by some twist of fate, her eyes glanced back and locked with his.

She shouldn't be here.

Arthur looked at her, forcing his face to be blank. She was still shaken by the sight of Eames being tortured, how was she supposed to deal with the knowledge that Fischer was going to use _her_ as blackmail against him. She should have run. He should have hit Fischer or done something to give her a chance to run away, even though he was fairly certain that Ariadne had not run away from anything in her life. Cobb had gone to limbo and she had followed Cobb there. It made sense that she would foolishly charge after him now.

Tearing his eyes from hers, Arthur leaned back on the seat and looked over at Fischer. The man was engrossed in his phone, typing another message, as he had been doing all morning and, Arthur imagined, since he woke up on the plane and the Captain said the use of cell phones was permitted once more. Fischer finished sending his email and glanced over at Arthur who pried his anger-locked jaws apart.

"So how far along did you get in disbanding your father's company before you figured it out?" he asked.

Fischer's eyes narrowed and the dim sense of victory Arthur felt was little more than a condolence for the monumental pile of trouble they were facing. He heard the tell-tale sound of Fischer's phone vibrating before the businessman pulled it out, resuming his frantic attempts to undo what they had done to him and, by proxy to his father's company. Exhaling, Arthur looked over at Eames who shot him a curious look. Arthur gave the barest shake of his head, signaling for the Forger's silence. Which, thankfully, he gave without question.

Glancing out the window, Arthur saw the city speed by and knew they were heading towards an airport where Arthur had a feeling that a plane was waiting to take them somewhere. Sure enough the limo did not pull up to the front part of the airport but came around the back, coming to a stop. Fischer stepped easily out of the car and Arthur followed him, waiting for Ariadne and Eames. The young woman got easily out of the car but things were not so graceful for the Forger who barely managed to stay upright on one leg.

Arthur quickly wrapped an arm around Eames, hefting the Forgers weight onto his own frame. He felt Eames shake against him.

"Go on ahead," he said to Ariadne who looked at him curiously before nodded and hurrying forward.

As soon as she had her back turned, Eames doubled over, bile spilling onto the cerement. Coughing, the Forger straightened up, shaking his head.

"Thanks for that," he said, his voice rough, "didn't want to worry her. What was on the camera?"

"Blackmail material," Arthur said curtly, "when did they grab you?"

"Coming out of customs. I didn't see it coming," he made a sound of disgust, "they put a bag over my head. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? How humiliating this is? How'd he know anyway?"

"He found out Saito bought the airline," Arthur explained.

"Damn, really?" Eames let out a humorless laugh, "you don't have a twin somewhere do you? Because that seems like the kind of thing you'd figure out."

"I told Saito not to make an outlandish purchases or do anything suspicious," Arthur said as they began to hobble awkwardly towards the airline hanger.

"A fucking lot of good that did," Eames said.

The pair of them reached the airline hanger and moved towards the plane that was parked there. The aircraft was big for a private plane, speaking to Fischer's success. Ariadne and Fischer were standing side by side, waiting for the two of them to get there. They went up first, followed by the pair of them. Arthur was not, however, surprised to see Yusuf sitting in one of the seats waiting for them.

"Oh my God," the chemist greeted them, looking shook up but no worse for the wear, "you tortured him?" he demanded looking at Fischer.

"Nah," the Forger said, "daddy's boy didn't want to get his hands dirty."

"I think that's what got you tortured in the first place," Yusuf said helpfully.

"Yes, thank you for that," Eames said with a roll of his eyes before turning to Fischer, "are we going or do you want Cobb and Saito to be totally insane when you have us rescue them?"

"I think he needs to send a few more emails to undo his disbanding," Arthur said dryly, making a note to ask Eames how he figured out that Fischer wanted Cobb back as well later.

Despite the pain Arthur was sure he was in, Eames threw back his head and laughed.

While Arthur was certain that was going to cause more problems, the sight of Ariadne pressing a hand to her mouth to try and stifle her own laughter almost made it worth it.

Almost.

* * *

**Ok once again sorry for the mistake of the first posting and a huge thank you to those who pointed it out. **

**Reviews are love! **


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